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 :)

89. Isolated

Chapter 89: Isolated 6th February 1943

"That's a goddamn lie!"

The voice of the American Lieutenant blasted out from inside the Quinn house, into the open air of the city. Stood between him and Michelle, the accusatory Michelle, Erin was doing her best to hold the peace but was fuming with her friend. She'd been angry all morning, as from the very moment she returned from visiting Lance first thing at the docks, everyone seemed to be against her. It was her mother at first, which came as no surprise to her, but then her Granda joined in too before they'd left along with Gerry, enjoying his first trip out in weeks, albeit in a chair. Then Michelle came round, with a wild look in her eyes, accusing Lance before Erin even had the chance to ask her how she was. It was not the morning that she wanted, not when she was already having to come from a losing position, grovelling to the fella about why she hadn't turned up the day before to meet him as agreed. He was so glad that she didn't…

"No it's not! Yer a racist, that's what ye are!"

"I am nothing of the sort, Ma'am". Keeping his cool despite the anger flowing through him, Lance gave Michelle a hard stare. "I don't know what Mr Johnson has been tellin' you, but it ain't true".

"He doesn't need to tell me, ye feckin' eejit! I was there… you know that!"

"I don't know what yer talkin' about!"

"Yes you do!"

"ENOUGH!"

Fed up with listening to the back and forth between her friend and her fella, Erin was about ready to lose it. Once again, the kind-hearted American was being accused of something that he hadn't done. Having come steaming up the path to the Quinn's, hoping to be able to speak to Erin to warn her of what he was truly like, the dark-haired woman wasn't stopped by his presence. She'd spent the rest of the night before looking after her fella after he'd been attacked, by a group of sailors from his own ship that included the Lieutenant she was arguing with. He'd managed to return to the same ship that morning, but the officers who attacked him would always be believed over a Steward's Mate. If she couldn't fight the American Navy's judicial system, then she could at least try to make her friend see sense. It wasn't as if she was pushing her towards James, like Mary was.

Except Erin didn't believe her.

Couldn't believe her.

Lance wasn't a racist… it just wasn't who he was.

"I don't know what's gotten into ye, Michelle… comin' here, accusin' Lance of somethin' like that! I'm sorry that yer Clint got hurt, but Lance didn't have anythin' to do with it! He's just as shocked as you!"

"That's right!" Lance jumped in, before Michelle could do so. "Rest assured Michelle, I will personally lead the investigation into what happened".

"Catch yourself on ye fuckin' prick!" She bellowed. "You were the one who did most of it! You and yer arsehole friends!"

The neighbours were beginning to become interested in what was going on when they heard raised voices, an audience of old ladies from up the street, peering out from behind their curtains. Joe's friend Jim from over the road was being nosy too, though when he saw Erin's scowl towards him, he soon stopped looking. Attention from all the street, as well as rumours, was the last thing that she wanted. Michelle was out of line with her accusations though, hardly the behaviour of a good friend in her opinion. They were all against her that was the problem, except from James, though he was the reason why they all were. Everyone else other than her wanted to dictate her future and she'd had enough…

"Michelle, Lance is not a racist and does not know what happened to Clint. Ye can't just come round here accusin' him of attackin' yer fella and… and sayin' those things to him!"

"Well fuck you, Erin!" A Jack the Ripping Michelle turned on the blonde. "What happened to us bein' friends… backin' each other up when it's needed! He's not the man you think he is!"

"Maybe you ain't the friend you should be". The Yank growled. "It ain't my fault Johnson got himself attacked. He should have been more damn careful!"

"Aye right… because when ye get attacked by a group of yer own officers, yer just supposed to fight them off! You bastard!"

"MICHELLE!" Erin yelled through gritted teeth. "Don't you dare speak to him in that way!"

Pouting whilst her rage continued to build, Michelle could not believe her. She didn't expect Erin to immediately condemn the fella really, not when she would need a little encouragement to come off of her perch. To not make any effort to, to believe him without considering her opinion, was hurting Michelle. After Clare's death, they were supposed to be closer together, not further apart. The very least she could have done was listen, but that was apparently too much. It was for her own good too, after all she'd seen the night before. She didn't trust Lance much before then either, but the side that she'd seen to the man made her worry for her friend. Losing her too, which it appeared that she was doing, was a heart-breaking thought. There was a clear decision that needed to be made on the table.

"Right then… well… it's me or him, make yer mind up, Erin!"

"W-What?"

For the first time, the young Quinn showed hesitation. Even with Lance's eyes boring into her from where he was stood. Having been friends with Michelle for years, she couldn't just lose her because of some misheard information or Clint attempting to get one over on his officer. Lance just wouldn't go out and attack a man, she knew, especially not because of the colour of his skin. In all of the time in his company, he'd not once expressed a view that aligned with what Michelle was saying. His heart was golden, not the evil black hole that her friend was claiming it to be. All of the years that they'd supported each other through the various travails of life that were thrown their way, it was all going to be broken apart because of their stubbornness. And because of him. The Yank in the doorway, who kept an angered stare trained upon the woman who'd interrupted his morning, the total opposite of his internal wranglings. Everything inside was positive… he revelled in the disconnect he was creating between friends. If time was kinder then he would have sorted out Michelle properly, but just seeing her cut adrift was a more than adequate replacement. Much needed victory was heading his way.

"Ye heard me… choose! Ye stay with this prick and I'm not wastin' anymore time on ye! Leave him and… I… I promise… I promise I'll help ye find someone better".

"I… I can't do that". Erin whimpered. "That's not… that's not fair!"

"Tough shit! Life never fucking is… I thought ye knew that, Erin!"

"See, Erin…". Placing a hand on her shoulder, Lance gave it a gentle squeezed. "She's just showin' how bad a friend she really is by making you choose. I wouldn't do that and you shouldn't stand for it!"

"Shut yer hole ye Yank shitebag! Why don't you fuck off back to where ye came from, ye dirty fuckin' piece of sh-".

"WATCH YOUR MOUTH, WOMAN!"

Cutting her off viciously, Lance only just resisted the urge to lunge forward and grab her by the neck. Women weren't supposed to talk to a man like that, not in his world. She was deserving of being beaten black and blue, just like her lover had been. He'd not ever really hit a woman but would not hesitate from teaching Michelle a lesson if he could get her alone. With Erin on the verge of making a decision though, he thought better of it, not wanting to jeopardise his own chances. The blonde was always going to choose him though, he could tell. As much as he despised it, she very much loved him from what he could see. Although despite that, he still didn't trust the alibi that she gave for the day before. He wasn't so bothered about her not turning up, but it was where she might have been instead that bothered him. Or rather, who she was actually with.

"Come on Erin… make yer choice!"

"I… I think… I think…".

Stammering, the young woman could feel her heart racing, realising that she could be about to ruin a part of her life forever. If she chose her friend, the person that had always been there for her through thick and thin, she would be shutting off her chance with the American. She'd never get to find out where their future would take them, what they might make of their relationship in a world that was peaceful once more. Choosing Lance though would have serious implications for her work, as well as other relationships, not just with Michelle. It could ruin her whole family's relationship with the Mallon's and most worryingly of all, with James. Worried, that's what she was above everything. No matter which side she chose, her main concern was what the Englishman might think of it. His understanding was her primary objective, although telling anyone else that fact was not an option, especially not to the two people she was stood between.

Erin was always going to have to disappoint one of them. And for her own sake, as much as it pained for her to do it, there was only going to be one winner.

Her eyes shifted to the ground, not wanting to look either of them in the eye when she spoke.

"I… I think ye should leave…".

Taking another deep breath, her exhale was heavy, her conscience having weighed it down. She almost couldn't believe she was having to take the course of action she was. Her heart was still beating uncontrollably but after another second, she flickered her gaze over to the unlucky loser.

"Michelle".

Years of friendship were gone in a few seconds, there was no doubt about it. Chillingly to her, Michelle seemed to accept it as if she'd known the answer already. That was how well they knew each other, intertwined with their feelings and emotions so tightly that they could guess an answer before it was given. Rolling her tongue on the inside of her cheek, releasing a very nasal huff, there was a shake of the head too. After everything that they'd gone through together as friends, their bond was being broken apart so very easily. There was no point in arguing back about her dismissal, Michelle knew, not when it would most likely see her arrested for the murder of an American officer. How she hadn't killed him after what he and his friends did to her sweet Clint, was a mystery that she would not be able to solve. The very best detectives would struggle with it. What little restraint that was left within her evaporated at being chosen over, allowing her to finally let leash on Erin. Her narcissism and inability to listen and accept the truth, drove her friend up the wall at the best of times. Yet as they were no longer friends, she would not hold back in telling her.

"Ye know Erin… ye've always been an egotistical bitch at times, but I never thought ye were a backstabbing cow!"

Taken aback by the ferocity of her frie-… Michelle's… outburst, the colour of her cheeks paled. It was exactly what she feared when the decision was made in her head, and Erin wasn't ready for the backlash at all. Behind her, Lance didn't offer a single ounce of support. He was having a battle of his own; to not grin at Michelle when he'd planted the seeds for her truthful argument to be destroyed. Mastering the art of manipulation was his most important success. Erin was wrapped around his little finger, exactly where he wanted her for the final stage of his plan. It really was the day for his plan to come together, with just one last barrier in the way with the young Mallon out of it.

"Ye...Ye did this Michelle, I…".

"Fuck off!" The rebuke was soft, breathed out in a sigh. "I hope yer happy with this…".

She stopped to point at the slightly taller figure of the American.

"THAT!"

Smirking, not even trying to hold it back when Erin couldn't see him doing so, the American was cementing his victory. He could see the look of hurt, defeat and even rejection in the woman's eyes… and he loved it. She was a nuisance, the troublesome sort. Getting cosy with a black man was the confirmation for him to, that she was addicted to being common and lowly. He most certainly was not planning to be there for Erin in the future, so if anything, he was doing her a favour by dispatching Michelle. Making enemies of allies was not something that was considered best practice by his country, but Lance didn't care. He was simply taking out the trash as far as she was concerned.

Breaking eye-contact with both Erin and Lance, Michelle stormed away down the drive, desperately trying not to cry as to give him an even greater victory. Quite clearly manipulating one of her dearest friends, formerly one of her dearest friends anyway, the Yank was just the trouble that so many people thought he was. Lieutenant Hamilton might have thought that he was getting away with everything, but his card was marked by all of those around him that were in Erin's life. Except none of them could prevent her from spending that life with him, now that she'd been sent packing from her presence. If she couldn't get through to her as one of her most trusted friends for years, then there was little to no one else that could. Only one name sprang to her tortured mind as she hurried away, to return home where she would undoubtedly cry.

The same fella that saved her Clint the previous evening…

The fella that was so universally respected, that redefined the word heroism…

The man that Erin should have been with…

She couldn't speak about him, not when Lance was there to muddy his name. Seemingly so entranced by him too, Erin would have no doubt accepted his word as the gospel truth, she knew. The blonde had already done so when he lied about his involvement in the attack. Anyone tasking themselves with trying to break the spell he held over her, was assigning themselves to a fool's errand.

The days of being friends with Erin Quinn, were firmly over for Michelle Mallon. She was done with her… not worth the hassle or stress any longer.

Her pride damaged by the events of that morning, breath gathering painfully at the back of her throat as she watched dark hair fade out of view, Erin was hurting. Another friend that she'd seen herself spending many a happy day with during the rest of her life, was gone. Unlike Clare, Michelle would be alive but if anything, that was worse. The two of them would still have to see each other, work together and share a church on a Sunday. She would never be able to escape the dark clouds that she would see whenever the two would occupy the same space or breath in the same pockets of air. If only everyone around her would have stopped meddling in her life, then she wouldn't have needed to have gone to the extremes that she had done.

To be considered her fault, it was not. It could not be.

"Come on…". Firm and gravelly behind her. "Let's get back inside. You're better off without her, I'm tellin' ye!"

"A… aye…".

She agreed but without her heart in it. It couldn't be when it was lying on the path outside the front door, trampled on by the latest decision fate threw at her. Only time would tell whether her decision to cut Michelle out of her life was correct or not. She did have Lance though, a shoulder for her to cry on if she wanted to, not that he would want her to do so. Nor would he be in her life for much more than two weeks. He would win his bet first, although he would have to wait until her first letter to him after he left for news of whether he'd continued the bloodline. The last time he would ever hear from her, he hoped. Everything was coming together rather nicely.

He'd cleared everyone he possibly could out of the way that day except one person, the last barrier between himself and what he wanted. Trying to outsmart that barrier would be tough, but he wasn't afraid to use underhanded tactics in order to get what he wanted. Absolutely nothing was off the table at all, with both his opponent and the blonde-haired young woman that was his prey.

Anna was the final barrier.

Left behind by her mother as a placeholder almost, to ensure that there would be no funny business in the house whilst she was out with Gerry and Joe, Mary's younger daughter was well aware that she was in a dangerous position. Cannily from the top of the stairs, she listened into every word of the conversation that was taking place outside, recognising the pain in Michelle's voice, through the nasty words that she was uttering. Remembering some of the backstory about his family that Lance told them when he'd been there one night, she coupled together what Michelle was accusing him of to it and suddenly her accusations all seemed very plausible. A family with a history in the slave trade, with a grandson that had apparently attacked a black man in a racially motivated attack. Erin might not have wanted to see it, but Anna could. She was too smart not to.

The last line of defence, though even she didn't quite realise the magnitude of the American's plans, responsibility fell on her seven year old shoulders. She could easily outwit Lance, doing so before when playing poker with him but that would not be enough to stop him.

"Erin… where's Michelle?" Anna enquired gently as soon as her sister began to walk up the stairs. "I thought she was comin' in?"

"So did I but…". Pain was etched into Erin's voice too, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it. "… but Michelle has other plans, Anna".

"Oh".

"I wouldn't think too much about her". Lance sounded out as the two closed towards her. "You don't need bad influences like her and her… family… in your life".

"Right…".

When she could make sustained eye-contact with Lance, Anna narrowed her eyes at him. Unexpectedly finding another challenger to his plans, his deathly gaze found her irises too after a moment of recovery. Anna knew exactly who else he was talking about when he mentioned Michelle's family, but unlike her sister, would not cave in so easily. However, giving him the immediate reaction that he wanted was not in her plans. It would have been far too easy, turning Erin against her too when she was blinded by the love she apparently felt for him. James' honour would not be besmirched as long as the younger Quinn sister was in earshot though, not when he was her hero. A true hero, not a treacherous manipulator like Lance was.

Following the couple into Erin's bedroom, direct conflict with the Yank was coming rather sooner that she thought it would when she woke up that morning.

The horizon in the background, was very much coming to the fore.

---

The night before…

For once, with seeming reckless abandonment given that the country was still in a state of war, the city was lit up at night. For the first time in a long time, the atmosphere felt like it should in Derry. Distant murmurings and laughter from the many pubs that were open at such an hour filled the air for those walking the streets, under the calm skies even if it was a little chilly. It wasn't the sort of weather that would allow those venturing out to shed an outer layer, but neither was it cold enough for shivers to be felt. For February at least, it was absolutely perfect. There was a full moon visible too, its presence almost calming itself over the green lands of the North West.

For Michelle, the night was even more beautiful than that. Surprisingly allowed on shore leave the moment the Lyman returned to port, Clint was with her that night as they sauntered down the streets arm in arm. Throughout the boring, and at times dreadful, coastal patrol, he'd thought of nothing but her. They were so madly in love it was unreal to him, having never expected to find such a relationship in Northern Ireland when he shipped out. He was half expecting it to be similar to back home, accepted by very few and sneered at by a lot of women who would be lucky to even come within a few feet of him when they were nothing to be proud of themselves. In discovering her though, he'd found the purest of love and being away from it, only made the man long for it more.

"It's beautiful tonight…". Michelle whispered, resting her head on his bicep as they walked.

"No… you're beautiful tonight". He replied, relaxing into her touch a little".

"Just tonight?"

"Every night".

They still hadn't gone as far as they wanted to in their relationship, but moments like the one they were having were what she lived for. Her wild teenage years were spent practically shagging anything that moved, but a year or so on from meeting Clint for the first time, she was more than happy to wait until they were naturally ready to give themselves to each other. Although it bothered her to see other couples so in love, clearly taking things a step further, it still marked a dramatic change in attitude. There was a time when she was terrified of committing solely to one man, those days feeling far in the past since meeting him. Her future was very much undecided still when there were so many factors out of her control that could have bearing upon it. She knew she wanted him in it though, hopefully as a husband. Yes, there would be talk, name-calling and mockery too. None of it would stop her, not least when there were so many people around her that would support her decision. Clinton Johnson was her future.

"I want the rest of my life to be like this…". She mused openly, voice all dreamy. "With you… out here at night, walking through my city. It's so cracker… so cracker…".

"I know…". He sighed, a very defeated sigh. "It's gonna be difficult, you know that?"

"Because yer…".

She didn't want to say it, looking at him apologetically to a degree. Clint understood though, because she was only saying the truth, not words that were designed to hurt him. The two of them were not meant to be together, not allowed to be back in America where he resided. Rules might have been different in Derry, as well as the attitudes of some of the people, but if the two of them were to marry they would never escape the funny looks from older members of the community. If they were to have children together, their children would be treated differently because of their appearance, receiving less respect than their peers and from their peers. It shouldn't have mattered when they were in love, but society was what it was.

"We can't go back to America". Open and honest, Clint hated himself for crushing her, hearing her exhale dejectedly. "Wouldn't last five minutes without gettin' ran out of a town. And I can't stay here if I come back…".

"But…".

"I know, Michelle… I know". He tried soothing her, the two coming to a stop. "I want the rest of my life to be with you too but… but I don't know how we're gonna do it".

Pulling away from him, she felt her chest contract, the air sucked out of it. It was the reality check that she should have known that was coming, when her relationship with the fella had all been so positive. If something was too good to be true, then it probably was false. A mantra she'd thought of many a time, remembering a time years before the war when she'd lectured Erin about fancying John-Paul O'Reilly. Although she didn't know quite how right she was back then, life had a funny way of repeating itself in that regard. To be able to live a peaceful and prosperous life with Clint, where they would not be judged or even, in the most extreme case, arrested, was not seemingly an option. He would need to become a citizen when he returned from combat, or if he returned that was, and for such an application to be made successful, a miracle would have to occur.

"I don't want to lose ye…". She admitted tearfully. "Yer the best fella I know… I… I can't…".

Bursting out into sobs having been on cloud nine just moments earlier, Michelle was instantly wrapped up in the American's embrace. Clint hated that he was the cause of her upset, hated that he was to blame for her finding herself crying his arms that night. In the situation that they were in, they needed to be realistic about the future. It was either going to be another two weeks or something more. He didn't want to lose the feeling of having her wrapped up in his arms any more than she did.

"I know… I know…". He whispered. "We'll try to do somethin' Michelle but… but we're gonna have to face up to it".

"Why?" Sniffling, Michelle was barely still breathing. "Why can't I just have what I want? Why… why can't we… can't we… be together. I want you!"

"I want you too, Michelle". Clint squeezed tighter. "You are so damn beautiful that I pinch myself at night to check I'm not dreamin'! I love you!"

"I love you too… so much!"

Crying wasn't an option for him, he needed to be strong for her when she could not find such strength. His heart was smashing into tiny pieces at his own words, but he knew that they were words that had to be uttered. She couldn't continue to live in a dream land when there were just a couple of weeks left until it could all be over. They would cherish every single second more they got with each other, although he didn't know if he would be allowed shore leave again. It could have even been their last night together for all he knew, although she would most certainly be there for his departure, even if it meant skipping work. Meyler was an understanding man after all; she would risk pushing her luck to see Clint off.

Five minutes passed as they swayed gently in the tranquil wind of the night, waltzing a sad dance that summed up their reality. Perhaps, Michelle thought as the minutes went by, that was why she'd not rushed into sleeping with him. Deep down her conscience was trying to tell her not to hurt herself by doing so, knowing that the craving of his body would leave her even more broken upon his departure. On the other hand though there was a sense of regret for not doing so, especially if there was not any further chances for them. She would live the rest of her life always wondering what it would have been like with him, as well as what their future might have held. The children that they could have had. Fate was stealing potential away from them.

Despite those thoughts, she sobered up enough to release herself from his grasp momentarily. The makeup she'd applied so diligently before leaving the house earlier in the evening was all smudged across her cheeks, the young Mallon a sorry state. The unshed tears behind Clint's eyes glistened in the moonlight too, in spite of his best efforts to blink them away rapidly. Hurting themselves that night, a weight might have been lifted from his thoughts at least, but in turn it was leaving a gaping hole of feeling without even starting on what it was doing to her.

"Michelle…".

"Evenin' Mr Johnson".

Out of the dark, where the streets lights faded down one of the side streets of the road that they were stood on, the figure of Lieutenant Lance Hamilton appeared. Neither of them were expecting company that night, not least Erin's fella who Clint believed to have been involved in debriefings with their Captain. That's what he'd told Michelle when she asked, having wondered what Erin might have been getting up to on her afternoon off instead. When it became clear that the Lieutenant was not available, she couldn't think of what her friend might have been doing. Her most hopeful thought was that she'd gone to spend the afternoon with James, who'd taken the day off work to look after her sister. That was fanciful thinking though, holding out hope for her cousin that the blonde might see sense and return herself to his side.

"Lieutenant Hamilton, Sir!"

Releasing Michelle's hands from his grasp, he stood to attention to receive his superior. When he looked back behind him, he could see that he was not alone in his evening walk. Lieutenant's Baker and Lloyd were accompanying him too, along with Lieutenant Commander Reeves. All four of them were openly racist, not just to him and the other black men who served at their command. It didn't matter where you came from, if you were not a white American then you suffered. He'd been luckier than some aboard the ship. One of the other black men aboard had been humiliated in front of the majority of the crew, most of whom were either in agreement with the officers or too thick to work out it was wrong. The sight of four of the worst offenders aboard the Lyman walking towards him, was enough to hatch butterflies in his stomach. Especially when he saw the look that Lance was giving him. It was not one of peace.

"Miss Mallon…". He curtly greeted Michelle, finding her frowning back at him. "What are the two of you doin' out here at this time?"

"Goin' for a walk, what does it look like?" She snorted, shaking her head. "What are ye doin' yerself?"

"Walking…". Lance replied, a slight smirk across his lips. "Your makeup… it looks like you've been crying, ma'am. Has Mr Johnson here done something to upset you?"

"No!" Fiercely snapping back, Michelle put her hands on her hips. "Are ye done now, Lance… can ye just leave us, please?"

"This will only take a minute".

Something about his tone suggested that whatever it was, it was going to be more than just a minute that he took to complete it. He carried himself in such an aggressive manner despite his calmness, that she did not trust him. If truth were to be told then she didn't trust him anyway, but for Erin's sake she'd kept herself neutral to avoid arguments. That theory was about to be put to the test and if Michelle's stomach was telling her anything, it was that it was going to be proven correct.

Lance took a couple of steps further towards Clint, right up in his face, at the same time as Michelle found herself pushed back slightly by her fella. He knew what was coming and didn't want to risk her being in the way.

"You got your pass to be out here, Johnson?" Enquiring in a spiteful tone, Lance was emphasising his power over him.

"Yes, Sir!" He replied, still stood to attention.

"Signed by the Captain?"

"Signed by the Captain, Sir!"

"Let's see it then".

Nodding to him that he could relax his stance, the evil look on Lance's face remained. From behind her fella, Michelle grew more and more anxious, worried for what might be about to happen. Clint had told her how rough some of the officers could be but had always hesitated to name Lance as one of them. He didn't want to cause any conflict between her and Erin. Their friendship was clearly something of value to them both, especially after the recent death of their friend. They needed each other far too much for him to break up their bond over his treatment at Lance's hands. He would always face such treatment from men like the Lieutenant anyway; telling her would not change how he was viewed.

Reaching into his pocket, Clint pulled out the slip that confirmed he could indeed be on shore. It was countersigned to, by the friendlier Lieutenant Masterson, who did not treat him or any man for that matter, any differently. Masterson and the Captain were both figures of authority that could be trusted, although the latter could be very easily led by men such as Lance. They could play him like a fiddle at times if they wanted to, undermining his authority rather subtly. Lieutenant Commander Reeves was often the instigator of such moves. Clint glanced over to the most senior officer in attendance, finding a similar look of hatred on his face too. All of the officers present hated him. Now they had him cornered.

He just knew that it was not going to be his night.

Chuckling softly, his breath barely escaping into the night air, Lance brought both of his hands up to the slip to read it. The Captain's signature along with that of Masterson's was on there, just as they should have been. Everything was above aboard. Or it would have been if Clinton Johnson was a white man of no specific ethnic background. He was not though, which changed the theatre of operations for the Lieutenant. The concept of equality and equal opportunity died at his feet. Tilting his head back to three men behind him, neither Clint nor Michelle could see how wide his smirk had become.

"Captain signed it, boys… and Masterson…".

"Did he now?" Baker replied. "But Lieutenant Hamilton, Lieutenant Masterson… he ain't here right now. That could have been forged".

"Does not look genuine to me". A demonic sounding Lloyd replied. "I think you should do what's right, Lieutenant".

Lance didn't ask for Reeves' opinion, the Lieutenant Commander taking a backward step as the other two men who held equivalent rank to Lance stepped forward on his flanks. They were only a pace or two behind him when he turned around again, but they'd revealed their own hands. As far as Clint knew, none of them were avid baseball fans yet both Lieutenant's Lloyd and Baker were wielding bats. There was a whole crate of them on the ship, brought along for part of a team building exercise on land during their training. They were serving a second purpose out on the streets of Derry that night.

Slowly, making sure to keep eye-contact with the man he despised in front of him, Lance tore the slip in half, allowing the separated pieces to drop to the ground, in the little space that was left in front of him. All the while behind, Reeves kept a close eye on the proceedings, not attempting to intervene. He was going to take pleasure from what they would do to the lesser man. It had been their plan all along, the moment that Baker spotted him in with the Captain. The idea was always Lance's though. In giving the Steward's Mate a savage beating, he hoped that it would send a message out to the man that he wanted to injure even more. Michelle's presence only made the deal sweeter…

"Johnson, you do not have a pass to be on shore, do you?" Asking again, he did so as he covered the pieces with his foot. "You are in violation of the United States Navy…".

"Sir!"

"Don't you Sir me, boy! You ain't supposed to be out here… we gotta teach you a lesson".

Already prepared with a second bat, Lieutenant Baker was prepared to pass one forward towards his friend. However, before he could do so, Lance's attention was taken away. Not balanced quite correctly having moved to cover the torn-up slip of paper, he found himself nearly pushed to the floor a second later. Clint hadn't raised his hands, the aggressor being Michelle. Terrified of what they were going to do, she did the only thing that she could do. Followed her instinct. Protecting her fella was what her mind and heart told her to do, to not be afraid of the weapons that the four officers carried with them. She didn't want to get herself hurt but more importantly, would not be able to watch her Clint getting himself hurt either. Or worse. The looks on the faces of the other four told her that worse was possible, forcing her into immediate action without thinking of the consequences.

"Get away from him ye lyin' bastard!"

Screaming at him, Michelle placed herself in the gap that she'd created between the two men. Clint's hand immediately went to her shoulder in order to protect her, to pull her away so she didn't get hurt, but Michelle was having none of it.

Momentarily shaken by her sudden assault, Lance recomposed himself. It was in that brief second of clarity that his anger rose beyond its normal levels. To put it rather bluntly, he saw red. Suddenly, Michelle's fate wasn't out of the question either. She was a traitor of sorts after all, sharing her bed with a black man when she should have been doing much better. If he was going to be the one to teach her a lesson, then he would do what he had to.

What he hadn't counted on was Clint outthinking him. Of course he wouldn't, because as far as he was concerned, the black man's kind were not capable of being clever. There wasn't a brain cell between them, he thought. If he planned on hurting Michelle though, he was going to have to rethink his strategy. Clint would never allow the woman that he loved to be assaulted by a purely evil man like Lance or any other man for that matter. If she was to be touched then there would be trouble, his previously calm demeanour prepared to change at the sound of her in any sort of pain or discomfort. Pushing her back behind him, returning them to their original positions, he put himself eye to eye with the vicious Lieutenant.

"What the hell do you think you're doing you filthy fuckin' nigger!?"

"You keep away from her, Sir". He ordered, seething the title out from inside. "You wanna hurt her then you gotta come through me!"

"Watch your mouth, boy. Didn't yer Momma tell you that when you were out pickin' cotton… you coon bastard!"

Trying to remain calm beneath the tirade of insults, Clint's tether was nearly at its end. He could deal with their thuggish behaviour and their childish comments, but he would not stand around whilst Michelle was threatened. Lance hadn't even needed to lay a finger on her for him to know that the Lieutenant would go that far, though clearly, he hadn't considered the consequences of his actions like Michelle hadn't hers. If he couldn't protect her and she was still hurt, there was one man who would make sure that the officers received punishment for what they'd done. It was only then that he realised, that was what the young officer wanted. They were being used as bait, a convenient excuse for them to injure him and satisfy their beliefs too.

"Stay away from her!" Clint reiterated, standing firm. "You got a problem with me or…, Sir… all of you… put down those bats and fight me like men!"

Looking between each other for a moment, Baker and Lloyd were stunned at the audacity of the lowly sailor. He shouldn't have been speaking to them at all, let alone speaking to them in that manner. Out of the light, back into the darkness of the alley behind them, Lieutenant Commander Reeves could hear what was said to. He was just as disgusted but knew not to get involved. He knew his role for the night, to step in if there was any interference from any unwanted influences. The story that he would feed the cops, the most likely source of such interruption, was already ready. It was Navy business and Steward's Mate Johnson had been caught trying to desert from his ship by the four of them. When he'd fought back, they'd had no choice but to subdue him.

Foolishly however, buoyed on by his own defiance, Clint overstepped the mark. Misreading their silence as fear of losing to him, which while it was not, they did, he engaged the three antagonists that he could see once more.

"Typical. You rich white boys ain't got the bottle for it. Bunch of spineless fu-".

His head was thrown to the side, a sharp pain stinging in his cheek. At the time, his gaze was focused on Lieutenant Lloyd over Lance's right shoulder, when the punch landed. The small step back that the other Lieutenant took was well timed, a swift movement to give him the room to be able to draw back his left hand and deliver the hooked punch. One with power born out of his engrained hatred of those with a different skin colour to his own, the youngest officer present held nothing back. He was going to make Clint hurt.

"NO!" Michelle shouted, rushing forward. "Get away from him ye-".

Performing another swift movement, he'd reached back to grab the bat that was placed into his hand from Lieutenant Baker, turning it on Michelle as she advanced. He didn't dare hit her with it just yet, not without making her watch her lover suffer first. The cruel, cold and calculating side of Lance Hamilton was on show that night, and he was doing nothing to hide it from her. What she was seeing was the man that he really was, not the one that he pretended to be to Erin.

At batpoint as such, she was powerless to do anything.

"Lloydy, come take care of her". Lance commanded. "If she tries to stop us… make sure she feels it".

"Ye… ye can't do this!" Losing hope, Michelle's voice cracked. "Ye… ye can't!"

"We very much can, Michelle… and we very much will". Laughing deep and devilishly, Lance was truly unchained. "This is what you get for sellin' yourself to a filthy fuckin' bayou swamp dog…".

Lloyd almost marched around to her, relieving Lance of his duties of guarding Michelle. The dark-haired woman under control, his attention returned to Clint, who was still reeling after the sudden blow. Catching him so off guard, it almost took him out of the country for a few moments, leaving him unable to hear her frantic comments from behind him. Coming to his senses, it was just at the wrong time as both Lieutenant's Hamilton and Baker circled him. The two friends were looking at each other with the widest grins possible. They were going to inflict a lot of pain upon him, hopefully disabling him for the rest of his life it they could manage it. Baker might have drawn the line there, but Lance hadn't. If they killed him, he wouldn't care less… cleansing the world of filth was justification enough in his mind. One less black man aboard his ship, the better… that's how his narrow thought process saw it.

"That hurt did it, bus boy?" Wickedly, Baker started on him first. "You don't know your place… so we're gonna have to teach you".

"Leave me alone…". Wincing at the pain his cheek, Clint raised himself from where he'd crouched a little. "We're on the same damn side!"

"You might serve in the same Navy as us, Johnson". Lance spat the words out at him. "But you ain't one of us. You ain't never gonna be one of us…".

Vilely, the Lieutenant gathered all of the spittle that he could muster at the back of his throat, firing a projectile of it right into Clint's face. The saliva covered his eyes and nose, a thick coating that burned with generations of resentment and hate. Discriminated against by the very men who were supposed to lead him into combat, he thought he'd left behind encounters like the one that he was having, when he left America. Racial hatred wasn't confined to borders though, not when there were despicable cowards such as Lance and Lieutenant Baker roaming free, holding power over those that they could subject to such abuse. They knew full well they'd get away with it too, the Captain buying any story that they would give him if they were to be implicated in what they were about to do.

"Come on Johnny… let's teach this negro piece of shit what a real American can do…".

Fighting them back would have been an option, but the moment he laid his hands upon an officer then he was done for. Especially when Lieutenant Commander Reeves was watching on, able to give a false report on how he'd attacked them first. Clint was going to have to stand there and take every blow, for as long as he could stand at least. They very well could kill him, which is why he took one last look over his shoulder before the first swing landed, to see Michelle for one final time. Lloyd was stood in his way, but he still managed to lock onto her eyes, the two of them finding each other once more. They'd already spent time discussing their future that evening, though neither of them could have predicted that it would be such a short one. His last look to her was one of anguish.

Clint was saying goodbye.

Luckily, if it could be considered that way, he never got to see her heart break before his very eyes.

In perfect synchronisation, Lieutenant's Baker and Hamilton swung their bats low, pummelling them into his knees. The strikes were hard, unrelentingly powerful blows designed to take him to the ground, where they could savage him properly.

"ARGH!" He yelled out into the night, falling exactly as planned.

"NO!" Michelle roared. "CLINT! NO! NO!"

Desperately she wanted to rush forward, to tackle the two attackers as well as Lloyd if he tried to stop her. His bat was the deterrent that prevented her from doing so though, when it appeared he would have no qualms in turning it on her. Still recovering from his own troubles of the heart when he'd been left by the woman that he thought loved him, Lloyd wasn't going to put up with any trouble from any member of the opposite sex. Not least one who decided to lower herself by sleeping with a black man. That wasn't God's intention in his eyes… races shouldn't have been mixing like that. It was wrong.

"Stop… please…". Clint chocked out, but his words were useless.

"Fuck you, boy!" Lance growled, spitting on him again. "Still don't know your goddamn place!"

From that moment onwards, it became an all-out assault. The bats were swinging again, this time striking Clint in the ribs as he yelled out into the night. Finally coming out from where he was hiding, Lieutenant Commander Reeves wished to see the spectacle himself, creeping up to the side of where two of his fellow officers conducted their brutal beating of Clint. Swing after swing was landed to both his torso and his legs, all of them listening out for what they hoped to be the inevitable cracking of bones. Lance was almost giddy thinking about it, channelling all of the aggression that he could into hitting the man harder. If he was absolute mush by the time they'd finished, he didn't care. The message that it sent was far more important…

Unable to stop them from hurting, or perhaps killing, her fella, Michelle dropped to her knees herself. She was panicking, breathing far from normal as she tried to scream. God knows how she wanted to, but the air from her lungs was completely drained every time that she went to open her mouth. Her life was being bitterly trampled on in front of her, her beloved Clint being torn apart by the arrogant racists that were supposed to be responsible for his wellbeing. Through their unchecked hatred, they were able to get away with such an act because of the power that they held. Singled out because of the colour of his skin, the man that she loved was going to die whilst she watched his assailants do it. She'd only just lost Clare too… and now she was going to lose him.

Still held at the point of a bat to prevent her movement, she wondered whether she was going to be set upon afterwards as well.

Those worries though… were unfounded.

Very much so.

Due to the sounds of the victim's shouts and screams, the derogatory words of his attackers and the effect of bat on skin and bone, none of them heard the foreign sound in the equation. There might have been light all around them where they were stood, but on the perimeters of that light was the thick darkness of a Derry night… where anyone could have been lurking. The cops or perhaps an air warden or even a drunk on their way back from the pub… someone could have stumbled upon them to stop the assault, even temporarily.

What came out of the darkness wasn't just anyone though.

It was the one person whose voice could stop such a terrible tragedy from occurring.

"Good evening gentlemen".

Although he did not shout, James' voice carried. There was a power within it, the power of a commanding officer that none of the four commissioned men stood before him could wield. He could command authority without having to beat it out of a man, a skill which the rest of them didn't seem to be able to grasp. Instantly, Lloyd took a step away from Michelle when he saw who it was that was suddenly just a couple of feet away from him. In his brown suit, there was a sense of sophistication at the man that he knew to be the woman's cousin, the very same man that Lance spoke of wanting to injure. He was the only one of the three to have not met the Englishman in person, retreating with his weapon to ensure that their first meeting didn't end with him being sent crashing to the floor. Finally, he could see why Reeves said that the young Lieutenant would have a problem in a fight against him. James was built like an ox.

Coughs sounded from behind the first man, Clint hacking up blood from his lungs. Still alive, just about breathing, he'd been saved. Neither Lance nor Lieutenant Baker would dare hit him again when they were facing up to James. Besides, they might have to hit him too, not that it would end well for them.

"Can I help you, Mr Maguire?" Taking command as he should, Reeves addressed him. "My men are conducting an approved operation and we would appreciate it if you could move along".

"An approved operation? I highly doubt that when I have just witnessed one of your men threatening my cousin. Did your superior sign off on intimidating the local population?"

"That was a misunderstanding. I will deal with Lieutenant Lloyd for overstepping his duties".

"No". James replied, cold as ice. "I do not think you will. What you are going to do, is stand down now and return to your ship, Lieutenant Commander".

Huffing out a shallow grunt, Reeves did not appreciate his power being challenged. Of all of the people that could have come across what they were doing to Clint, it just had to be him. He could have convinced or paid off anyone else, but not James. Lance's rival for Erin, the war hero if the stories about him were true, he was not so gullible. As much as his Lieutenant's wanted to believe that Michelle's presence was only making the message that Lance wanted to send clearer, he knew it was making it much worse instead. If they could have guaranteed that the banker wouldn't be out that night, then it would have been perfect. They could not do so though, not without exposing their own intentions if spotted.

"This is a matter for the United States Navy, Mr Maguire. Now I won't ask you ag-".

"That is Vice Air Admiral James Maguire of 815 Naval Air Squadron, Fleet Air Arm, to you, Lieutenant Commander".

Reeves sniggered, shaking his head.

"You are retired, Mr Maguire. You don't even have command on your own side".

"Retired from combat, perhaps, but you are very much mistaken if you think that I have not retained my title and my responsibilities".

Lying through his teeth, James' acting skills would have made his dearly departed mother proud. The American officers weren't to know that they were correct, and his steely outlook told them the exact opposite. Tricked into believing what he was saying, Reeves looked visibly shaken, like two of his three Lieutenants already did. Lance was the only one of them to remain with a determined look on his face, that James noted out of the corner of his eye. Recognising his psychological advantage though, the battles with Kurt once again proving to be useful to him, he did not make any sort of contact with the man he despised. Wrestling control of the situation from Lieutenant Commander Reeves was his first priority.

"As the senior officer present, I order you to stand down unless you can present the orders that you speak of?"

"With all due respect, Mr Maguire…". Still unwilling to refer to him as his superior, Reeves glared, voice heavy. "… I am in command here and I do not answer to you".

"No, Lieutenant Commander. I am in command here. Now unless you wish to risk a rather embarrassing diplomatic incident between our two allied countries, I suggest that yourself and the three Lieutenants, return to your ship at once".

Beaten, and knowing it, Reeves was caught between two minds. Doing as James suggested would represent defeat, which was something that he very much wanted to avoid. At the same time, he didn't want to have to face the repercussions if he really was an active serving member of his own military as he said he was. He was far too many ranks higher to try to overrule. That was before it was even taken into account that he was talking to the first-born son of the King of the country that they were being hosted in. The Lieutenant Commander chose the wiser of the two options.

"You will hear from my Captain about this, Mr Maguire". He growled, ordering his men back with his hands. "Baker… get Mr Johnson up and carry him back to the ship".

"But Ree-".

"I said get him up!" His whisper was angry, through gritted teeth, though he kept his eyes fixed upon James.

"Not so fast". The Englishman interrupted, taking a couple of further steps towards them. "I will escort him back to my cottage where I shall treat his injuries".

Overstepping the mark most certainly, as he did not have any say on where Clint should be, he held firm. Knowing that Michelle would want him to do everything that he could to protect Clint, he wasn't going to let her down. Allowing them to escort him back to the ship would have been a mistake, as in the state he was in then he could have been thrown into the water to drown. Defenceless against any further attacks, the best place possible for him was the cottage. Nobody would be able to harm him there, not without being forced to fight both James and Michelle first. Contacting Charlene was an option too, though his cousin's presence made that line of thought disappear quickly when he could not risk blowing the heiress' cover.

"Once again, Mr Maguire, this is a matter for the United States Navy. This man is one our sailors and is our responsibility".

"This man was being unlawfully attacked by four officers who should know better". Thrashing out a cool reply, James remained resolute. "Do not think for one minute that I am blind to what you are doing. You seem to have forgotten a key detail, Lieutenant Commander".

"Oh yeah… and what the hell would that be!?"

Lowering his voice to a whisper, James leaned in so that only Reeves could hear him.

"When you are out there at sea, when the Nazi's or the Japanese are attacking you… the colour of a man's skin is irrelevant. You will need every man that you can get if you are going to be successful because the enemy will give no quarter. Do not treat a man so poorly, when his actions may decide whether you live or whether you die".

With that thought planted in the mind of the Lieutenant Commander, who'd became suddenly very uncomfortable, the Americans all began to retreat. Rushing forward once they were clear of him, Michelle was at Clint's side to assess the brutal injuries that they'd inflicted upon his body. The whimper that she uttered when she saw the condition that he was in, boiled James' blood, but for the sake of staying within the boundaries of the law, he ignored his own anger. Sat alongside anger though was fear. Getting to see the true man that Lance was, the man that he already thought he was without validation, made him worry for Erin. She would not be able to fight off an assault like that should the man decide that he would conduct one upon her. He'd been able to get to Clint in time, a lucky occurrence seeing as he might not have been out on another night, but that might not be the case again. He had to protect Erin.

Lance… Lance had to protect himself. His plans and the wager that he was involved in. The other three had only agreed to help him because they were able to watch Clint suffer, as the message it was sending out was counterintuitive to their bet. To win, they needed James to be a thorn in their friend's side, not scared off. Scaring James off though, was going to take a lot more than what they'd done to Clint.

It didn't stop Lance from trying his best.

No longer with a bat in hand, he shuffled across to put himself in front of James, fists curled ready just in case.

"You stay the hell away from Erin, ye hear". His words were quiet, but his fury was still evident. "She's mine… not yours. You don't touch her!"

"As I have said to you before…". The reply from James matched the tone Lance led with. "As long as you treat Erin with respect, we will not have a problem".

"Then we have an understanding. Stay away!"

"Of course".

For a moment, they locked their eyes together again, another challenge being silently spoken just like at the docks a few weeks earlier. Erin wasn't in the Englishman's arms this time, but she was still very much in his life, to the dismay of the American Lieutenant. Although he might have shown the guts to warn James off, internally, an unnerved Lance was rattled by his presence. Open conflict with the former pilot was certainly something he did not want, not when he was physically superior and battle hardened. Standing up to people was never really his forte anyway, only to other family members who he could guarantee would not take any physical action too far. There was no such safety net when dealing with the brown-suited gentleman that was staring him down.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, from his friend Lieutenant Baker, Lance withdrew, taking a couple of further glances back at the man he so hated as he left. The four of them were all leaving with their tails between their legs when they were supposed to have been triumphant that night. Stopped by a force far greater than the four of them, they were returning back to the ship empty handed. Clint not showing for his duties the next morning would at least cause a commotion, but if James really did have the power that Reeves thought he had, then nothing would come of it. Of all of them, Lance ended up losing rather than winning. He didn't have much time as it was, but with James now seeing a side he'd tried to hide to those outside of his friends, he was running out of it far quicker. If he still held any sway over Erin, Lance knew, then he would be able to turn her against him.

Training his eyes upon them all the way until he could no longer see them in the darkness, James finally let out a breath. He could hear Michelle's sobs to his right and would join her after another second, but he had to allow his mind to wander to the woman he loved for a moment.

She was in danger now, more danger than she would be able to cope with.

Protecting her was paramount.

---

"You did the right thing, Erin".

The next phase of the Yank's plan was beginning, the latest of his manipulations that she seemed to fall for so easily. Winning the bet and getting what he wanted was on, with only her younger sister able to stop him, which was hardly a deterrent. However, knowing her smarts, he did have to think of a way to remove her from the room without it turning physical. As much as he could have very easily done so with Erin not around, it would no doubt make the rest of his plan much trickier if he'd resorted to striking her.

"I… I don't know… I…". Completely and utterly confused and somewhat devastated, Erin stuttered. "She was just so… so rude and ye… ye wouldn't have done that? Would ye?"

"Of course not. I ain't that kind of man".

Nodding once again, she bought his lie without hesitation. Offering outstretched arms for her to fall into, he did his best not to show how much he despised having her there. He couldn't care less for her at all, her interests not being his concern when he was only bothered about his own. Destroying her friendship with Michelle was a guiltily sick pleasure for the Yank though, mostly due to the events of the night before. He'd come so close to being able to wipe out a man who he treated worse than a spec of dirt on the end of his boot, but a combination of cousins ensured that he did not get what he wanted. James was the larger problem of the two, although not to him that Saturday morning. Siphoning Erin off from her was a start though, hoping that the message was becoming clearer to all of those around her, that she was his. For what he wanted at least.

"I… I can't believe ye'd do that to Michelle…".

Speaking up from behind them, Anna fiddled with her blouse, before meeting her sister's eye. So shocked about what she'd had to do, she wasn't expecting yet more questions about her decision making to come. She expected them from her mother later on that day when she found out the truth, perhaps from Gerry too, but not from Anna. Her sister could not be pacified so easily, she knew, and trying to win an argument against her was no easy challenge. Smart and sufficient, she was quite the rival. Lance looked down on her with yet more fury building inside, another challenger that he was going to have to fend off. He kept his mouth shut to begin with though, hoping that the blonde would have it in her to shut down her seven year old sister, who seemed to know no fear in diving headfirst into what happened.

"It was… complicated, alright, Anna". Erin moaned, huffing at her sister. "Ye know, Michelle doesn't always get everythin' right like she claims and… and she can't just go round accusin' Lance of doing what she said he did! He isn't barbabric!"

"But Michelle's yer best friend!" Anna argued back, crossing her arms. "She's always been good to me too. Why couldn't ye just talk properly and… and not been so horrible to each other".

"ME!? I was calm. It was her who started gettin' me to… to make choices and ye know… it's her fault, Anna, not mine".

"No it's not her fault, Erin!"

Aware of the dangerous ground that she was treading upon, Anna remained undeterred, to the surprise of both Erin and Lance. Although the former expected her sister to have a fair amount to say for herself about what she'd heard from inside, she hoped that her brief explanation would be enough to see her drop the subject. It was just her luck though that Anna would defend Michelle so stoutly. With everything that had happened to her since the war began, she'd failed to notice the bond that her younger sibling held with the woman that used to be her friend. Michelle was a role model to Anna in a way, her rebellious nature shining out brightly. Although she would not become so rebellious, it was the spirit that the dark-haired young woman carried and inspired, that she enjoyed. Life wasn't taken so seriously when it came to her, a laugh or a joke just around the corner at all times whilst she remained grounded. There were so much more to Michelle that met the eye, gravitating Anna towards her out of fascination if anything.

Seconds later, once the initial shock subsided, Erin entered a staring match with her younger sister for a handful of further seconds. It wasn't what she needed after an already emotionally charged evening, as well as what so nearly happened between her and James the prior afternoon. At that point in time, Anna was very much a firm ally but just under twenty four hours later, that alliance was showing its first signs of splintering. Their bond was just as tight, if not tighter, than the one that the older sister shared with her friends. Looking out for each other whenever they could, they would not be separated properly like the blonde was with Michelle. Resenting each other throughout every passing minute of the day at home was possible though, until the older of the two would be inevitably kicked out. All of those around her always thought that they knew best, which was what infuriated Erin more than anything else. Nobody would allow her to make her own decisions without them providing input with their own opinions. She was done listening to anyone else.

"Ye didn't have to send her away, Erin! How do ye know Lance is tellin' the truth!?"

Bravery and fortitude that was frightening within a girl of such a young age, Sister Michael's fear of her proving to be right as it always did, Anna did not mind attacking him verbally. The fella that should have been in that room with Erin was an Englishman, but James was out in the country, in his cottage. The American was a lucky man in her mind, arriving into Erin's life at the precisely correct time when she needed someone to lift her from her morose state. He could at least be thanked for that, although the cynical side of the young girl told her that her sister was already improving her outlook by that point anyway. Lance was very much an opportunist in her mind, who was praying on someone that would listen to him without question due to the fear of losing someone else. Erin just didn't want to lose anyone further, not after Clare. That gave the Yank the perfect chance to cement his place in her thoughts. Anna knew all of it, which is why she would challenge him where Erin would not.

"Are ye callin' my fella a racist!?" Erin rebuked her fiercely, pointing her finger in Anna's direction. "Ye can't go round' sayin' that, Anna!"

"But can ye…". She asked Erin, before turning her scowl on the American. "Can ye?"

"I think you have misunderstood what has happened, Anna". Approaching her with a soft voice, Lance forgot who he was dealing with. "Now, why don't you run along and go play in your bedroom… and we'll all forget all about this".

"Catch yourself on, answer me question!"

Demanding an answer from Lance, there still wasn't an inch of fear inside of Anna. It could have been her youthful innocence preventing it, but she'd shown many a time that she was well ahead of the curve when it came to her age. Her capacity for understanding the bigger picture was something that Lance could not compete with, not when he was as narrow minded as he was. She wasn't scared of him, if anything the boot being on the other foot. Being stood up to by a fearless child that had one of the best brains around, he did not take kindly for her questioning his story. Teetering on the edge of the truth of what happened, he would never go into those such details with her but was going to have to get close. Erin went to reprimand her sister again, only to be stopped when Lance squeezed her hand to indicate that he would talk to the youngest woman in the room.

"I did not attack Miss Mallon's… whatever he is to her…". No longer hiding his emotions, Lance snarled at the younger Quinn. "Now I understand why you might wanna believe her, Anna, I do. She's your friend… but she ain't a good woman. What she said to your sister weren't right and she's accused me of doin' all this too. That ain't the behaviour of someone who you should be around".

"She wouldn't accuse ye if she didn't know!" Returning a comment almost straightaway, Anna entered into the psychological battlefield.

"Ach come on, Anna! You know that Michelle can make up stories. She's always making up stories, so she is!"

Truthful as it was about Michelle, Anna doubted she would make up such a severe story. The tone that she shouted at Lance in was not that of someone who was acting. Her nasty, cutting words came straight from the heart, the only place powerful enough to generate such power. Clint must have been attacked by Lance and his friends, there was no doubt about it in her mind. She was a nuisance at times with her swearing and constant misbehaviour, but there were morals to how the young Mallon acted. She wouldn't make up a tale of such magnitude without there being hard evidence to be able to make the claim. Michelle wouldn't have gone out of her way to hurt Erin by spreading malicious lies about Lance either. She might have exaggerated a story or two in the past, but this time she was being deadly serious. Her fella really was on the receiving end of a horrific, senseless attack the night before.

"Not like this, Erin! This is a bit more than her normal stories, so it is! Where we you last night, Lance?"

"What am I on trial here!?" He shouted, finally cracking. "You need to learn to have more respect, young lady! A good woman knows when to keep her mouth shut!"

"A good fella doesn't make friends turn against each other!"

"Now look he-".

"I don't want to hear it!" Holding her hand up, a defiant Anna was raking Lance over the coals. "Yer nowhere near the fella James is! He wouldn't do what you did!"

Pushed into a full-blown argument with the American, Anna finally made a mistake. Despite all of her smarts, she was still young and carefree, to an extent. Charging a little beyond what was acceptable in order to keep the power of the room weighted to her side, she'd brought up what could have been considered to be the elephant in the room. Lance didn't miss the way that Erin's cheeks heated up when she heard his name, though her little sister knew that if she would point it out, then it would only lead to more conflict with Erin. She was there to protect her older sister after all, not turn her against her and those who cared for her. Inadvertently, the wain mentioned the one person who was always going to make Lance boil over.

"The coward who doesn't wanna fight anymore!" Lance bellowed. "I don't appreciate you comparing me to him, Anna. I ain't weak like him!"

"He's not weak! How many battles have you fought in!?" She stood up to him again, passion burning in her young body.

"Anna!" Erin tried to warn. "That's enough! Both of ye!"

She might have thought that her voice was to be listened to, but neither her young sister nor her fella were interested in obeying. Too invested in their argument, her thoughts were tossed aside as they traded verbal punches.

"Answer me! Or are ye too much of a coward!" Baiting his fury, her face was glowing red.

"You little…". He only stopped when he saw the look Erin was giving him, not that it made his anger subside. "I ain't been to fight yet but I ain't no coward! Your precious James… he couldn't hack combat. Look at him now… if he was a man, he'd be back out there!"

"He got shot down destroyin' the Italian fleet, so he did! And he still managed to do it! All ye and yer friends have done since they've got here is train and… and get women pregnant! James has done more for the war in five minutes than you have in a year!"

"That bast-".

"NO!" Anna roared, cutting him off. "Ye don't resort to using those words here! I suggest if ye can't be a grown up then ye turn around and walk out of that door!"

Completely stunned, as well as being thoroughly humiliated by a seven year old girl, Lance wanted to hit her. Wipe the look clean off of her face… seriously hurt her if he could. Only Erin's timely intervention prevented him from doing so, as she strode across in front of him, in the direction of her sister. It was perfect how he controlled her… because he knew with certainty that she was not moving over to her to take her side.

"GET OFF ME!"

Shouting more in a couple of minutes that she had done for the majority of her life, it was Anna's voice that bounced off the walls when Erin grabbed her by the wrist. Wriggle as she might, the iron like grip that her sister held her by was not one that she could escape from.

"ERIN!"

Dragging her sister out of the room, Erin slammed her bedroom door behind her when they were out in the corridor between rooms. Anna was still fighting away, to no avail, but the older of the two pushed her away, nearly pushing her to the floor. There was a wild look plastered across her face, that she trained upon her younger sibling, who was picking herself up, rearranging her blouse from where it was ruched up after their tussle. Erin was raging, completely and utterly so. Another unsubtle attempt from a family member to drive a divide between her and Lance, Anna's was the most shocking betrayal yet. She thought she could trust her little sister, that out of all the family, she would be smart enough to know not to interfere. Clearly those smarts did not extend to knowing when to keep her nose out at such a young age, a lesson that she was going to have to learn. Hands by her sides, resting on the fabric of her skirt to start with, they were soon in the air as she gesticulated towards her rather defeated sister.

"What are ye playin' at ye wee eejit!?" Erin spat fire at her. "Don't ye DARE call Lance a coward!"

"He is, Erin! Ye need to wise up and realise he's a horrible fella. He attacked Michelle's fella… I think ye know that!"

"He did not!"

"Yes he did! Michelle was tellin' the truth, so she was! I couldn't even see her and I know she was, so ye must know!"

She didn't know because Erin could not believe that Lance would be responsible for such a horrific attack. If Clint was attacked then it must have been by other Americans, not her fella. Lance was such a sweet, kind man, that only ever showed his anger when provoked, like Michelle and Anna had both done that day. What the young Quinn could not see was that he was reacting so strongly because her former friend and her little sister were both threatening to burst the control bubble he held over her. The Lieutenant was having to battle back with his own verbal machinations because he couldn't afford not to. For his plan to succeed, he need dominance over her, which meant shutting out all of the forces that could scupper him.

"Yer out of line, Anna! Now yer stayin' out here or in yer room until Mammy and Daddy get home, do I make myself clear!?"

"Wh… but Erin, I'm tryin' to help ye!" She pleaded.

"Well yer not!" The older sister snapped back. "Just stay out of my business ye nosy little crone!"

Pivoting on her heel before Anna could respond, Erin stormed back into her room, once again slamming the door behind her. Outside, her wee sister did her best not to cry, sensing she'd failed not only herself, but everyone else who cared about Erin. Although she might have been blind to see it herself, every member of her family and all of her friends could see just how toxic Lance really was. Some of them tried harder than others to make her see the light but ultimately, they'd all failed. The seven year old couldn't have known what was to come as she stood tall yet without success, with only one person left that could perhaps stop her older sister from making a monumental mistake. That was a dream though, and during a time of war, one often had to abandon hopes and dreams to understand the world's reality.

Back against the door inside the room, locking and bolting it behind her first, Erin finally let out a breath as Lance watched her, stood idly by the window. He was trying to calm down himself too, as well as hiding the growing smirk that he could feel across his lips. The final stages of the plan he'd been concocting for so long, were finally coming to fruition. The last major obstacle in his way was now out of it, thanks to the very same woman that was the object of his cruel desires. With Anna no longer there to outsmart him, he finally had his chance. Months of waiting were coming to an end, just a few more minutes until he could unleash himself completely without having to pretend that he was a gentleman, as Erin saw him. She was such an ugly, unlovable woman that he knew it would be an ordeal in a way, but there was no turning back. Measuring the specification of what he required to the letter, it had to happen. Lieutenant Baker would be arriving at the Quinn house within minutes too, to confirm that he'd won the wager too, by poking his head around the door to find the two having sex. With any luck, he'd end the month with a brimming pocket and a baby in her belly, that he would not care for other than to ensure that it was born, to see the Hamilton bloodline continue even if he did not survive the war.

All that was left was to gain her consent.

Or try to.

"I'm sorry about… about Anna… I…".

Approaching him slowly, Erin herself was trying not to cry. Alienating one of her best friends and then shouting at her sister, was beginning to leave a mark on her that she could not understand. Or did not want to. As she rested against the door moments earlier, the small voices that so often tried to throw her off the course that she set herself, spoke up to her loudly again. A very simple question was what they asked her.

Was Lance worth all of it?

Dwelling on the answer was a terrible idea, but her conscience seemed to fight against her. The damning truth was that he was not. Still unwilling to accept that he was a bad fella, she was, but he equally was not a man that she could put everything on the line for. There was a certain spark between them that just did not flicker, not like it should have done. She knew how being madly in love with a fella should have felt, the need to seek him out as if no other man existed or the inability to leave his side because it would send waves of emptiness through one's body. In a time before the invasion of Poland, three and a half years or so earlier, she'd experienced those feelings with James. True love that was worth risking everything for. He'd done so by going off to fight in the war, showing his heroism to the world but destroying the life he left behind in the process. The afternoon before at his cottage, she'd felt something close to that sort of love again… but never had she done so with Lance in all of the time they'd been together. Erin didn't want to accept the truth though, telling herself repeatedly in her head as she walked over to the American, that it was he who she loved, not the Englishman. They just hadn't had their spark of love moment yet, that was all…

"There's no need to be…". He replied, pushing off the window ledge to join her in the middle of the room. "She's still a kid… she don't understand".

Wrapping herself up in his arms, Erin desperately hoped she would feel the spark that the voices were telling her didn't exist. How right they were to, as being in his arms was doing very little for her heart to race. There was… nothing. She'd felt safe in them before but after being in James' again, Lance's no longer cushioned her the same way. Desperately she tried not to think of the wee English fella, but he invaded the spaces in her mind more frequently than his country had invaded hers. That was the power of the man that she once thought she would spend the rest of her life with, only for fate to stand in the way. Fate was staring down the barrel at her again in her bedroom, but she was not prepared for what was coming.

Only Lance was.

"You know… we do have the room to ourselves now…".

An attempt at seduction evident in his tone, he pulled away slightly, to be able to look at her to see what the reaction to what he was doing was. His hands were lightly trailing across the skin of her cheeks, moving to cup them slightly. Almost immediately though, he was aware that it was not going to be a straightforward case of her falling to his charms. Her cheeks should have been heating up under his palms, but instead they remained cold to the touch, as her eyes darted from side to side, trying not to look at him. She wasn't ready still, after all of the time that he'd waited for her to be. The smallest ounce of good within him even understood her hesitancy for a time, but it was no longer up for negotiation. The stage was set and the cast were expected to perform.

"Lance…".

She wanted him to stop. It wasn't what she wanted… not yet… and not with him. Her mind wasn't so much telling her as her body was. Her skin shrivelled and curled at his touch, making her want to cocoon herself to block out what he was doing. The want in his voice was evident to her, though she could not have guessed just how important she was to him fulfilling his desires. Cold sweat seeped out from her forehead, trickling down slowly as he continued to explore her face with his hands, which stroked at a sensitive spot behind her ear, without eliciting any slight hint of arousal from her.

Suddenly, he stopped. His hands came away.

His fury returned.

"It's him… ain't it?" An evil growl was blasted straight at her. "That goddamn English son of a bitch… he just couldn't keep his hands off, could he?"

"No Lance… it's not… like… it's not like t-that…".

"BITCH!"

Opening her mouth to respond in a cry, his hands found a new spot around her neck instead. A painful stinging breath came up from her lungs as he squeezed at her soft skin, forcing her off her feet almost, backing her into the wall. On her beside table, her books were knocked onto the floor as she was pinned against the wall, locked in the ever-tightening hold that he had on her. The tears that were already building inside her were flooding out as the air that she received decreased, the Yank applying all the pressure that he could. Everything that had been said about him, that she'd defended him over, was coming true. His tether gone, Lance was a beast out of his cage, rampaging across her as she began to claw at his arms to try to release herself.

"La-… La-Lan… Lance…". She wheezed, attempting to fight him off. "S-st… s-stto-ppp".

"YOU LED ME ON!" His shout echoed through the house, his grip unchanged. "BUT YOU ALWAYS WANTED HIM! MADE ME LOOK LIKE A FOOL!"

"N… no! No…. p-pp-please…".

"That's where you was yesterday… that's what you didn't wait for me! You were with him, weren't you!?"

Still trying to manipulate her even as he assaulted her, Lance wanted her to feel as if she was to blame. The truth that he'd withheld from her, and even his own thoughts since first realising she hadn't waited for him as she'd promised, was finally out in the open. There was no doubt in his mind that she was with the Englishman, not after what he'd seen at the docks a couple of weeks earlier. If she wanted to give her body to him after he'd gone then that was her prerogative, but while his wager was still not won and his plan to carry on the bloodline was still not complete, she was betraying him by seeking James' comfort. He didn't think much of her anyway but did not think she was that sort of a girl. From what he could see, he was wrong… and she would face the consequence of her actions.

"L… Lance…".

He finally released his grip, but his hands remained planted onto her neck. Erin could breathe again but she was hysterical, her back literally against the wall. The fella that she thought Lance was, was an illusion and she'd realised it far too late. He was a monster who was prepared to make her suffer. She hadn't done anything with James like he'd alluded to, though without Anna's interruption there was no doubt that she would have at the very least kissed him. James wouldn't have treated her like this if she hadn't have wanted to have made love, but he wasn't the man in front of her anymore. She'd ensured that Lance would have the opportunity to do what he wanted to her… and she was going to have to pay the price for it.

"You are gonna do what I say, understand?" Growling again, his voice terrified her.

"No… please… please Lance… let me go…".

"I don't think I will". He squeezed her throat again, to leave Erin squealing. "Unless you want me to tell the whole city about that baby you lost".

Being strangled should have been what caused the fear to spark up in her eyes, but even more was created when he spoke of a truth she could not afford to have known widely. The mocking that would befall her would be enough to drive her to despair, the shame not only against her but the rest of the family. Their reputation in the community would fall because she had been unable to carry a child to a full term. The rest of her family who did not know would feel betrayed, as well as her friends, although she was rather rapidly running out of the latter with Michelle now seemingly gone from her life. She was trapped by the American, her life threatened in more ways than one. All of his manipulative games were finally dawning on the young woman for what they were, yet she could do nothing to stop them when he had her by the throat.

"No!" She whelped, beginning to lose the will to fight. "No!"

Once again, Lance released his hold on her throat, taking in the emotional distress that he'd caused her. If he ruined her after that morning so be it; if any allegations were levelled at him, there were no witnesses and she would be believed to be a liar. Holding her in his power though, with a chance to sully her reputation significantly in the city, he was not overly worried about any backlash. She would be far too frightened to accuse him of anything when one word from the sailor could see her humiliated. That was one of the nuances of the city that he'd come to understand. Despite the Irish way that seemed to accept all skin colours to a degree, which he did not agree with, communities were quick to judge. Once the church got wind of something then an immediate, and likely lifelong decision, would be made. Very few managed to outrun family reputations, James being a rare case, not that he truly knew the full picture about his rival. He had Erin exactly where he wanted her… or almost, anyway…

"On your knees!" Commanding her, the power flowed through his veins.

"N-No… no! No! Please… Lance, please! Ye… ye can't do this to me… I… I".

"Shut your damn mouth, woman!"

Poisonous words spilled out of his as he stared down at her, the defenceless look in her eyes almost spurring him on more. He wanted to do this to her more than ever when he saw that look, drunk on the superiority that he felt in the situation. Dominance was his and she would obey his every command unless she wanted her life to be devastated. It would be anyway, but in a way that bought him more physical pleasure than just destroying her reputation would. The victory in the wager, was inevitable.

"GET… ON… YOUR… KNEES!"

He went for her neck again, only for Erin to dodge his hands, spotting a chance to get away. That window closed quickly on her though, the American moving his body into the path of hers in order to block her. Pushing her back roughly, she caught her head on the wall, not that he cared for whether he hurt her or not. If anything, he hoped it did daze her, making the task of forcing her into intercourse with him a lot easier. Dejected and hurting, Erin didn't know how she was still fighting, but she was stubborn like her mother after all. The effort was a desperate one when she was severely out strengthened by the Yank, but she just had to try.

"STOP FIGHTIN'!" He yelled at her. "You do what I say… when I say it! NOW ON YOUR KNEES!"

Ignored again, Lance wasn't going to put up with her failure any longer. Reaching down to his belt, he slowly drew his knife out of its scabbard like holder that was attached to it. The only weapon that he'd carried out on the streets that morning, his gun not required, she nearly screamed upon seeing it. Only his free hand moving up to cover her mouth stopped her from doing so, as well as alerting anyone else who could have heard it. Such a scream would have alerted the immediate neighbours, but it was a morning where Orla was out in the town with Marie, and Joe was out with Mary and Gerry. Nobody other than Anna could come to her aid, and Erin couldn't blame her sister from staying away. A victim of her own foolishness, she thought at the same moment the knife edged towards, she did not deserve rescuing.

Muffling her cries and begging for him to stop, the Lieutenant taunted her with the weapon. If he didn't want a child from her then it would have been far too easy to just plunge it into her neck, such was the contempt he held for her. She was worthy of such a grim demise when she was such a blight on the otherwise beautiful horizon that he saw every day, but that was not her purpose to him. He needed her alive, but that didn't mean that he couldn't rough her up a little. Or a lot. Denying him the respect that he warranted, he was going to have to teach her that before she served her purpose.

Holding the knife directly in front of her face, able to see the shining steel in her pupils, red streaks around her eyeballs emphasised the overwhelming fears that she held. Erin's destiny was in his hands, and Lance was going to control the next part of it until he was satisfied that all of his aims were achieved. Curving his lips up wickedly, he began to laugh at her, taunting her to make her realise just how stupid she'd been. She let him into her life, let him assume the position that he was taking after pushing away all of her family and friends. There was no James to save her now, just the two of them and whilst she'd not planned for the situation they were in, he'd been doing so for longer than she would ever know.

In a split second, one swift flick of the wrist, his knife slashed down into her blouse, ripping it apart around her chest. The sound of her shrieking when she realised what he was doing, bounced back off the palm of the hand that he still held over her mouth. Pinned in place with no chance of being able to move, he once again shifted his body forward, this time to prevent her from lashing out with her legs at him. Blockading every weapon of defence she could throw at him, the American Lieutenant made short work of the blouse that she'd decided to wear that morning, tearing it apart completely. Underneath the blouse, she was only wearing her bra, an ever flimsier wall of fabric for his steel to cut through. Screaming under his palm still at every move of the knife, forcing him to press down on her face harder, cold tears bounced off of his fingers from her streaming eyes.

Her bra did not put up any defence at all, and he took a hold of it as it was cut from around her, throwing to the floor on the other side of the room. Little desire stirred within him from her naked chest, but he was already more than aroused enough by the thoughts of dominance in his head. Finding her to be attractive was never part of the plan when it wouldn't have to be, the rush of power stirring his libido into uncontrollable levels. His mind still thought of how he could have just sunk the knife into her there and then, but he fought the thoughts away, remembering the cost to his wallet if he was to back out having gotten so far. Fulfilling his desires was far more important to him than seeing her to her grave, which with any luck, someone else might sort out on his behalf anyway, even if it was years down the line.

When he couldn't kill her, he could at least start on his physical destruction of her body instead. His left hand was still required to cover her mouth, but the right was free, the knife back in the scabbard where it had started. Bringing the free hand up sharply, he began to fondle her exposed breasts, roughly pinching at them without any thought for her. The act brought Erin no pleasure though, not when his hands were as rough as they were across her skin, leaving red marks on her as he continued. Lost to his own world of power and desire, Lance's nails dug into her flesh, penetrating the skin in places. His movements were awkward as he did so, mostly because she kept fighting him when she should have been giving in, surrendering to his will. She wouldn't surrender though, courage being found when the blonde needed it more critically than she ever had done before.

She could fight… she would fight…

A half second was all that was needed, and that was what she got. The hand that he'd used to cover her mouth, slipped out of place, and immediately she used her newfound ability to move to raise her left hand up. Slapping him across the face might not have been the most physically damaging of acts, but it broke him out of his sexually charged state, allowing her an inch more space than she'd held just seconds earlier. She could breathe again too, although Erin was more worried about trying to get out of the room than she was about whether she could breathe or not. Escaping was the key to survival, even if it meant running out into the street with her modesty unprotected. If anyone was alerted to the assault that was taking place, Lance would have nowhere to hide or run to, especially when there were others in the city who would bludgeon him for what he'd done.

But a half second was all that she got.

Fate's mercy did not extend any further than that.

The shock to his demeanour was no more than a gentle tremor, the slap nowhere near powerful enough for him to be brought back to earth. Nor was it enough to force him into ceding any further ground than the inch or so she'd received to breathe in. Barely stopping to register the blow to the face that he'd received, he raised his hand up, the back of it aimed towards her cheek. Fury and desire mixed to make a powerful substance that fired the pistons in the muscles of his right arm, that he drove towards her. The back of his adrenaline-fuelled right hand connected with her cheek, an explosive impact that was drummed out around the four walls of her bedroom. The young woman was forced into another yelp as the impact sent her off balance, onto her bed to her left side, shins striking the wooden sides.

As soon as her body sank into the covers, the American did not allow any room for escape, jumping down onto the bed after her. The Lance Hamilton that was in her bedroom that morning was not a Lieutenant in the United States Navy but a devilish fiend, who only saw one outcome. He as the all-powerful force in the vicinity was dictating everything, once again using brute force to get what he wanted. The thought of her consent was a distant memory as he struggled with her on the bed, trying to keep her on her stomach where she'd landed. Try as she may, Erin just could not move, caught with her hands behind her back, Lance pressing down on them to keep them in place, as his other hand began to drag her skirt down from her waist.

"STOP FUCKING MOVIN'!" He roared. "STOP!"

"NO! STOP IT… GET OFF ME!" She called out at the top of her lungs, hoping someone would hear her. "H-HELP… HELP!"

Lance could not risk her being heard, once again sacrificing control of one part of her for another as his hand slipped around her mouth again. She was going to be crying and screaming a lot more in just another minute's time, he knew, but first he needed to rid her of the garments that still blocked him from what he wanted. It was better this way though, the Yank coldly assessed with a smirk, entering her from behind so he did not have to look at her hideous face. Although the mental destruction he would have set off within her was not quite so strong when he could not look her in the eyes, it was better for his vigour that he did not see her. Seated across her back, her legs were under his control, leaving the young Quinn with just her arms to fight back with. She was struggling to muster an effort though. Panicked, terrified and degraded, Erin just wanted to be somewhere else away from the reality that she was facing, far away from him.

The world was not so kind. Not to her.

The skirt joined the growing list of her clothes that were now either destroyed or discarded, the remains of her blouse ripped from her arms too, leaving her completely naked from the waist up. All that was left between him, and her dignity was her knickers, but they would not be safely guarding her body for long. Lance thought it would be simple, now that she was on the bed ready for him to ravage, but in a last act of defiance, her free hands fought to keep him from dragging them off of her too. A small rear-guard defence, it was just about all that she had left to counter his aggression with, knowing from the moment she started, that it would not be enough. For the sake of her future, Erin wasn't going to let herself succumb without some form of valiant effort… until it failed at least.

Any attempt to fight him off ended when cold steel pressed against the back of her things, gliding up towards her buttocks slowly, Lance goading her fear yet again. He was fighting familiar thoughts once more too but chose yet again not to end her life there and then, despite having the weapon at hand in order to do so. The knife kept on advancing over her skin, without drawing any blood from a body that was firing red liquid to every place possible, her brain so scrambled that she was losing all forms of control and functional ability. Pausing, resting the knife over the fabric of her underwear, his sickening laugh filled the air. He'd won. Defeated her. The last object in his way being her knickers that he suddenly cut free, pressing his knee into the bottom of her back to lift the fabric from her skin where one devastating slash was enough. Returning the blade to where it was kept in the scabbard at his waist, he ripped her knickers away, leaving her unclothed body lying in front of him, completely unprotected.

Courageously she'd tried to fight him off, but as she felt the rest of her body exposed to the air and to him, Erin's resolve faltered quickly, dying there and then. She was going to have to lie there and take it, because there was no escape.

A bucketful of tears were already loose from her eyes, some coating the floor and others the covers of her bed, the edge of the pillow too. Her face was now buried in it, waiting for the onslaught that he would perform upon her powerless body, praying that the ordeal would be over quickly, even if she would never quite be able to wash the shame away. Her heart smashed just a little further when she heard the sound of a belt unclipping, along with a growl of satisfaction that was purred out onto her spine, tiptoeing its way up the curve of it and across to her ears.

Towering above her clothe less form, Lance could not help but bite his lip, trying to bite back his sickening desires. The moment he'd been waiting for came, even if it was in the scenario that was the most unnatural to him. Details did not matter though, not when a minute later, Lieutenant Baker would be arriving to confirm that the wager was decided, that Lance was the winner. He could even hear his friend's footsteps on the stairs as his brain whirred away. As well as the bet, the Hamilton bloodline would, all being well, be continued, through a bastard child in the city of Derry, Northern Ireland. A boy or girl that would not get to know their father.

It was all so perfect.

And so, so… soul-destroying, for the woman on the end of his perverse pleasures.

Closing her eyelids, firmly shutting out what light was left for her, Erin Quinn prepared for the next however many minutes of her life, that would change her forever.

She was petrified beyond imagination.

She…

*CLINK*

The first sound caught both of them by surprise, followed quickly by a second and third, of objects striking the ground from across the other side of the room.

"DAMNIT JOHNNY, I DIDN'T SAY BR-".

Lance stopped shouting at his friend, the lock and bolt of Erin's bedroom door coming to land by his feet from where it was ripped away by an unrelenting blast of raw muscular power.

There was only one source of such power around in Derry.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!"

James.

It was only ever going to be James.

Not his friend Johnny Baker or any other ally. Or even any other enemy. No, poetically, there could have only been one man that would ruin his plan, at the very last second. An Englishman, who'd beaten the other Yank to the scene, with not a moment to spare.

The look that he found across James' face, was one that Lance had never seen upon a man before in his entire life.

In a room where one could hear a pin drop, the gulp that the American produced was more akin to an earthquake.

Erin's heart that was so fragile, cracked apart by Lance, came alive at the sound of an English voice. Her saviour, the very hero that she'd once dreamt him to be. James was not only there to save her, it appeared, but to prove that dreams did indeed come true. Her last line of defence, would always, without failure, be him.

For a few seconds there was total silence, as Lance tried to build up the nerve to step away from her, to confront the physically daunting opponent that was now in the bedroom doorway. James only needed one kick of the door to break it down, his foot barely feeling the impact when he was on edge. When Anna found him out on the street, just a couple of hundred of metres away, he'd travelled into a different world of emotion. He'd been heading to the Quinn house anyway, to warn Erin about Lance after what had happened to Clint the night before. The warning was too late, but he was lucky that fate brought him too her faster than it would have done if he were still at the cottage, through its chosen vessel; Anna Quinn. The younger of the two sisters didn't know where she was running to when she left the house, but upon spotting the Englishman, she knew that her sister would be safe. The wain was stood behind her fierce friend in the doorway too, poking her head out to find her distressed sister laid out on the bed.

Just about finding enough bravado to stand his ground, Lance removed himself from the bed. As soon as he did, Erin frantically pulled the covers around her, protecting her dignity in front of James and her sister.

"What the hell do you think your doin!?". He addressed James, snarling at him. "Can't a man enjoy himself with his woman without bein' disturbed!?".

"Get out!".

James's voice remained almost concrete like, his stare fixed. No quarter would be given from him, something that Lance was sobering up to rather quickly.

"I ain't going nowhere!"

Still feeling the effects of his power trip, inebriated on the control that he'd held over Erin, Lance's confidence was overbrimming. James might have been taller than him, more muscular and undoubtedly braver, but he could take him on. Then Englishman hadn't returned to combat since returning him from the continent, which must have meant he was easily rattled, a point he'd put across to Anna a while earlier. If he was easily shaken at the thought of conflict, then all it would take was a couple of punches and he would be able to finish what he started with Erin. He was American after all, his ancestors most likely having fought and beaten the British many years before. The man from the little island couldn't have been that tough, not compared to a young American with rich blood running through his veins.

Stopping to conceal his move he did not. There was no need for him to telegraph a blow that he'd been wanting to strike from the moment he first saw James Maguire.

In mid-air, a different story was told.

The Lieutenant's hand appeared to hit a brick wall, ceasing its flight as quickly as it started. He hadn't somehow managed to swing and punch one of the four around them though.

James' left hand caught his right, a shockingly rapid reflex action. Without barely breaking sweat, he'd prevented himself on being on the end of a strike that was full of pent-up hatred and resentment. However, the former pilot brought to the table an element he could not counter; his love for Erin. It was for her that he was strong… to save her from the evil she'd accidentally allowed to manipulate her.

He didn't even flinch as his fingers closed around Lance's fist.

It was precisely at that very second, that Lance realised, he'd made the gravest mistake of his entire life in attempting to fight James.

Or in cruder words, he knew… he'd fucked up.

The very mistake all of his friends and fellow officers told him that he would be making in attempting to best the Englishman one to one. Mano a Mano. The odds only ever favoured one of the too… and that was not the suddenly de-powered American Lieutenant, who'd failed so miserably after coming so close to the ultimately perfect execution of his plan.

Only Charlene knew the look that James was giving to the American Lieutenant, she being the only person left alive who knew it and what it meant. Lance had a fairly good idea without needing her there to explain it to him, shivering in the Englishman's palm at the empty yet terrifying stare that he was being given. Aisling saw that stare in the very last couple of seconds of her life before she was shot in the head… John-Paul too when he'd seen the Englishman slit his throat, high up in the mountains of the Pyrenees. One of the most vicious men that the Nazi regime could muster, Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden, knew the look as well. All three of them were dead within minutes of seeing it. Lance was going to have to put up one hell of a fight if he wanted to avoid the same fate as them.

He hadn't offered any mercy to Erin as he attempted to rape her, so James would not show any mercy to him either. His look said enough. As did the trembling figure of the Yank, who gulped loudly once again when he foolishly glanced down to see James' scrunched fist on the start of its journey towards his jaw. The first punch was going to hurt a lot, he knew.

With all of the significant power that he could muster, James launched a simple straight punch towards the man's face, only angling it slightly at the last moment to hit the sweetest spot that he possibly could along Lance's jawline.

There were bullets that did less damage than the jab that James landed.

Taken off his feet by the monstrous denting to his jaw, Lance almost flew through the air on his descent across Erin's bed, to the rear wall next to the window. He cried out upon the impact of James' knuckles colliding with his mandible, the bone shattered upon impact. The sound of bone breaking ripped through the room, so much so that Anna even winced at it, despite knowing the fella deserved his punishment. At her tender age, she wouldn't have been expected to know what was going on, but being the smart girl that she was, she understood it perfectly. Her sister needed her whilst James dealt with the unwanted intruder into their lives, little legs pounding over to the same bed that the Englishman was now circling to get to his prey.

Curling up in a ball to avoid the stricken Yank, Erin only just avoided screaming when he landed only a couple of feet from her. Her insides were being pulled from pillar to post, out of a terrified state but into a crazed one, where she didn't know what to do. James was handling Lance on her behalf but beyond that, beyond the two men fighting, she didn't quite know what to do for herself. Coming so close to being a victim of one of the most ungodly acts that a human being could perform, she was trembling just as much as the fella who'd tried to force himself upon her was. Naked, she felt ashamed of herself even if it was not her fault that she'd came within seconds of being defiled. However, those thoughts were side-lined when arms were wrapped around her covers. Anna was almost shielding her from what was going on around them, an additional barrier of protection against reality while she fought to recompose herself. The Lord had done the family a fine service in giving them her little sister, validation never brighter than it was that day.

Side-eying Anna's efforts to aid the stricken Erin, James' deathly look remain unchanged, training it on the flailing Lance once again. Knocked for six by the first punch of the Englishman, it knocked little sense into him, instead leaving him rather dazed. For the first couple of seconds upon gathering himself up on the floor on the other side of the bed, where he'd finally come to rest, the American didn't quite know where he was. His disorientation soon dissipated though, when he looked up to his left to find James stood blocking his only means of escape. Mentally, there was only going to be one winner of their fight and when he flared his nostrils whilst staring down at the man he wanted to punish, the banker showed why it would be him.

So close to the taste of victory, Lance could only now smell pain and even death in the air. The tables were turned; he was trapped.

His overeager folly still in place though, he threw all caution to the wind, rushing forward towards his opponent with the intent of tackling him to the ground. James saw the move coming though, his defensive manoeuvre already ready and waiting for Lance from the very moment that the American moved a muscle. Lifting his right leg up quickly, the Englishman's kick connected with his rival's chin, launching Lance backwards into the corner of the room. There was another small side table there, full of Erin's poetic works, his head bouncing off of them, leaving them strewn across him as he landed. Her poetry often made heads ache, but it was the first time that it had done so in that particular context.

There was no time for him to focus on his pain though, not when James' hands were rough around his collar, dragging him up. He'd always thought that the Englishman must have been immensely strong when he carried a significant amount of upper body muscle, but he'd never anticipated to be so badly outgunned. With the strength to lift him from the floor and suspend him in the air, Lance very much knew he was going to have to be crafty to survive, let alone thrive. Once again, he saw the dead look in the eyes of the stronger man, his vision and anger focused in such high concentration against him. James took a couple of steps back with the Yank in his grasp, wanting to steer clear of a highly distressed Erin, who was being comforted so sweetly by young Anna. When he'd taken another couple more back, his legs in line with the wood at the bottom of her bed, he channelled all of his power into one explosive moment.

Shouting out, showing the immense amount of muscle that it took to be able to perform the action, his fingers let go of the collars of the Lieutenant's uniform, but placing him firmly on the trajectory to make contact with the floor on the other side of the bed.

He'd catapulted him over it. There was no other word for it.

"FUCK!"

Another roar lingered in the room, this time Lance's, when he realised how much it was going to hurt when he landed. An already broken jaw, as well as a chin that must have already begun bruising, he was already in a sorry condition before smashing into the floor, the floorboards creaking at the colossal impact that he created. His chest was set alight, hitting the ground first, the familiar sound of cracking once again emanating from his body. This time it was a couple of ribs that were being broken, torn asunder by the rage of a gentleman. Scraped knees added to the list along with aching elbows too, leaving the American's body unable to decide which injury it should send signals to first. There was only Lieutenant Baker that could save him, but unbeknownst to him, his friend had thought better of it when he noticed James advancing towards the house in the distance as he walked up to confirm the successful wager. The other officer knew what was good for him, combat against James not being something he wished to enter into.

James was just as clueless about Baker's involvement too but was unrelenting in his assault as he prowled across the room, regardless of who may or may not have been coming to rescue Lance. Just as soon as he'd impacted upon the floor, Lance felt himself being dragged up again, this time finding the wee English fella tugging on the back of his collar rather than the front. However, his fears were raised even further, to heights he'd not ever countenanced before, when he realised that James was only using one hand to lift him. He was being treated as if he was a snotty tissue or a dirty pair of briefs, lifted up by the collar and dangled so humiliatingly in the air in front of Erin and Anna. If ever he was displaying his physical prowess to the edge of its limits, James saved his best for when it mattered the most. Just as he always did, when asked the most vital questions by fate during his life, the young man came up with the most solid of answers.

Tossing him into the wall by the door as if he were nothing but an inconvenience, Lance didn't miss the way that James snarled at him before feeling his head thump against the hardened plaster. Shooting around his body anyway, pain manifesting itself in his head was almost covering the last base left. Other than his scraped knees, his legs were just about the only part of his body not aching in one way or another, useless tools for him to throw at the other worldly like nature of the burly Englishman. Lance found himself unable to move as he once again landed harshly on her bedroom floor, coughing up a speckle of blood or two where he lay. Being struck by a train would have been favourable to the two minutes he'd just ensured at James' hands.

Over his shoulder, James looked back to find the sister's cuddling on the bed. At some point in the seconds that passed since he'd last seen them, Anna had managed to get another blouse to her sister, as well as what appeared to be some more underwear, judging by how Erin was wriggling underneath the covers. When he met the eyes of his beloved, he could already see what she was trying to say to him without the words, her gratitude never more sincere. He'd saved her life in truth, when being degraded so violently by the American would have left her scarred forever. It still might, though those thoughts were for after the Englishman had extinguished Lance's flame from their lives. Nobody ever harmed Erin without getting through him first; it was a pledge he'd always kept with his own heart. Forced into delivering on it, he found the Yank to be a very unworthy challenger to destroying that word.

"Anna!" His officer's voice on show once more, he called an order to her. "Stay here with your sister. Put her chair behind the door after we go!"

"Aye, I will James!" She enthusiastically replied, only to then cry out in terror. "LOOK OUT!"

Using the Englishman's brief distraction to his advantage, Lance almost hid behind his body as he fought his way to his feet. Only at the very last second was Anna able to see that he was no longer stuck to the floor where she'd last seen him, groaning as he took in his injuries. Back upright, he returned to his waist for his knife, the weapon he'd done remarkably well not to land on either time he'd been tossed across the room. His body might have been aching hideously from the blows he'd taken, but with the short yet thick blade in his hand, he could land one on James that the young gentleman could not get back up from. He would have done it to protect Erin, of course, which was what he would tell anyone who dared investigate him. The tables suddenly swung back in his favour.

James saw the shine of the steel too late.

To get out of the way completely at least.

The downward stab was aimed directly towards his jugular, but he'd pivoted with just enough momentum to prevent it from being ripped into. The acute movement put his left shoulder in the path of the forceful hack though, the knife slicing through his skin and the tissue surrounding it underneath.

From the jaws of defeat, sporting his own broken one, Lance found his get out, to take victory. He couldn't match James physically in hand to hand combat, but the Englishman was too much of a gentleman and it cost him. Had he not made the ridiculous decision, in Lance's eyes at least, to show compassion to Erin, then he would have been able to finish him off. It was the American's day though, passing the test from the heavens that made him worthy of completing his plans, with the bonus of ending James' life too.

He was the winner.

Until he realised there was a rather major hole in his thinking.

James hadn't reacted when the knife was plunged into his shoulder.

What the heir to the throne had learnt from the very same Nazi Doctor he'd killed was that the victor in such conflict was the one who controlled the psychological field of battle. He'd waited for Lance to notice his lack of reaction, for the exact moment where the two would hold direct eye contact again, where he could maximise the effect of what he was going to do. Another fact that Lance was yet to realise, was that when it came to shoulder injuries sustained in conflict, it wasn't James' first rodeo.

"Always the bloody shoulder!".

He huffed. That was all the reaction to the wound that Lance was going to see. More than enough to break the already waning spirit that he carried. Out of weapons and ideas, the odds were stacked against the cowardly tyrant.

But to compound the misery even further, Lance was left reeling as James so nonchalantly removed the blade from where it was stuck in his shoulder tissue, dropping the blood-sickened steel to the floor behind him. At no point did he even see the slightest note of pain become registered across his opponent's face, somehow terrifying him even more than he already was. James Maguire was not a man who couldn't go to war again because he was not strong enough to withstand the rigours of it and the heat of battle. The very insinuations that he'd uttered less than a half hour before were coming back to sting Lance right where it hurt; inside him. Still Lieutenant Baker did not come to his aid too. An epiphany was on the edge of breaking out whether he liked it or not.

He really was alone.

And James… James really was not prepared to show any mercy. Surrendering would have been pointless too because the enraged Englishman was perhaps the only man in the city who could kill him and get away without so much as a slap on the wrist. The angered man very much knew that was the case too, even if it did contrast against his generally gentlemanly demeanour.

There was nothing gentlemanly about what he was going to do to Lance.

Off the chain, unleashed with fists seemingly from the gods, James threw punch after punch at the American, who was too unsteady to stop any of them. The first of them caught him square in the face, taking him back a couple of steps towards the wide-open door, drawing blood immediately from his nose. The second followed a similar path, though it missed the nose slightly, catching him just to side but with just as much force as the first to send him stumbling, this time through the doorway. Looking up again, Lance's heart died a little more when his face caught a third punch in succession, striking him in the left eye. It was enough to force him to the ground, out in the corridor where James appeared on cue, not once giving his rival a second to think about a way out. Relentless, that's what he was. That's what Lance forced him to be when he kicked the door down to find him in the process of forcing himself upon Erin. Nobody would ever harm her in that way, not when his love burned for her as strongly as ever. Love did that to a man, love so strong that it was driving him to punish the Yank in such a spectacular way that he would never have dreamed of doing otherwise.

Scrambling backwards on his palms, a broken face peering up to the dominant defender walking towards him, Lance could only try to escape. With his broken ribs, that he'd now realised were when his breathing was not as steady as it should have been, and not just from his panic, he would not be able to outrun James. He needed a miracle or his best friend, but in the case of the latter then the chance was very much lost. Even if Baker did turn up, he would not attempt to strike a blow on James when the evidence of what the Englishman could do to him in return was paraded around like a trophy. The fly in the ointment of Lance's latest plan were the stairs behind him. Going down them on his palms was not an option, so he began to pull himself up, using the banister at the top to steady himself, all the while watched by a slowly approaching James.

Lance made another mistake.

As he attempted to put his weight onto the banister, the Englishman's boot went crashing into his left kneecap, taking it away from under him. Absoring the grievous blow, his grip on the banister somehow held despite the rest of his left side faltering, counterweighted by a right leg that remained on the top stair.

His gaze met James'.

There were tears in Lance's eyes. There were not in James'.

In his, there was still an empty look, a lack of any feeling and compassion whatsoever. Mercy, was not in supply at all.

The mind of the Englishman, the conscience that always seemed to fight against him, cheered loudly for him. Told him his next move, too. Sweeping the leg that remained, to leave Lance with just a hand on the banister to keep him balanced, his right leg still dangling out above the stairs beneath.

One puppy-esque yelp rang throughout the Quinn house.

Without even a chance to beg for quarter to be given, Lance felt another boot make contact with him, this time with his chest. Twisting his leg around to the side, James delivered an almighty kick to the American's midsection, finally breaking the hold that the evil Lieutenant held on the banister. James knew the man he was becoming for a change, very much aware that he was not his normal self, kicking Lance to the turf in the manner that he was doing. For once though, his fundamental decency could not stand in his way. Lieutenant Hamilton deserved every single blow after putting Erin through what he had done as well as what he'd failed to do. Never again did the former pilot wish to see his beloved so helpless, her hands in the fate of another man. He didn't care if it cost him his life, it was his personal mission to ensure her safety.

It was love.

"NO!"

It was hate that forced the scream from Lance though, a simmering hatred that left James' right boot to launch the American into the air once more. He cleared half of the way down the stairs before his first cry, when the middle of his back bounced off one of the hardened edges, only covered by the thinnest lair of carpet. Carrying such hefty momentum, he ricocheted over many more until his head and back joined in unison, crunching into the wall at the bottom of the stairs. The whole house felt as if it shook when he did, such was the chilling sound of human body impacting upon solid home structure.

"F… fu…".

Lance's vision was blurring now, one eye virtually closed thanks to the third punch he'd received during the onslaught in Erin's bedroom doorway. Even through blurred, bloodied vision, he could make out the impending demon that was Vice Air Admiral James Maguire. The concept of retirement would not be seen in such light ever again. There was nothing used or finished about him. The scar across the left side of his face only magnified just how terrifying a truly aggravated James was, practically hovering down the stairs, his footsteps purposeful but light, barely drawing more than a squeak from the floorboards underneath. The American found himself gulping again, knowing deep down that the assault was far from over, but after another momentary pause in the beating, he could not do any more.

James did not allow for any more time to pass either, grabbing the exhausted, defeated Yank from the corner of the stairs, launching him into the wall adjacent. Crashing into another large surface, there was nothing more than a tired sigh that came from the fella he was beating, as Lance landed square on his back, in quite the heap. Circling him for a second time, like he had done after the very first punch was thrown minutes earlier, James wanted to him to experience the same fear that Erin must have felt as she was trapped under the American, her dignity about to be stolen from her. That was a punishment that Lance did deserve, one he was more than willing to administer.

If his time was to come, then the last thing that the American would see as his life ebbed away was the man he hated, besting him. Snatching at his lapels once more, which were very much under his control it seemed, James lifted the Yank up a little, his bruises shining in the light of the day. The side of the man's face was hanging slightly, the broken jaw fully showing alongside a bloodied nose and black eye. The damage to him was severe, yet still not enough for James. Just seeing Lance's face spurred his rage on further, his fists clenching when he could feel the breath of the dishonourable rapist upon the skin on the back of his left hand. He didn't want to feel that any longer, the air not deserving of being wasted upon an unworthy specimen like Lance.

Punch after punch followed.

Every single one was for her, striking down the American when he'd tried to ruin the woman that the Englishman love and cared for. One by one, each different blow told of a vulnerability too, the events of the day once again showing James what his greatest weaknesses was. It was her, Erin Josephine Quinn. Only in defence of her could he tap into the darker side of himself that usually remained so well hidden under the gentlemanly image that the people of Derry associated with him. She was watching him too, not that he'd managed to spot her, so focused upon silencing Lance once and for all. Neither Erin nor Anna, who was watching on shocked, tried to stop him.

That told a story all by itself.

In the moment though, James was not interested in fictional sentiments. Blood built up on his knuckles, drawn from Lance's face that he continued to pummel viciously. Beating him black and blue was an understatement; he was defacing the man, it could not be seen as anything but.

Only then did some solace come for the victim.

The front door opened, and a new set of voices filled the air, prompting a now fully dressed Erin, and Anna, to stand.

"-then ye wouldn't be such a usel- JAMES! NO!"

Joe's was the first voice, the oldest of the three to arrive immediately rushing forth to grab the Englishman, pulling him off the Yank. Mary followed closely behind, she too moving in, but to Lance's side. She might have hated the fella but for a brief second, she forgot about it upon seeing the condition that James was leaving him in. Her natural instincts as a mother kicked in despite her hatred, gravitating to Lance because of the blood and bruises that were now defining him, broken bones too. Gerry was left outside in the chair that they were wheeling him around in, but he could see everything from where he was sat, except his two daughters that were towards the top of the stairs, their view of him also restricted.

"What the hell's gotten in to ye, fella!" Joe shouted in James' face, having to use all of his strength to hold him back. "JAMES!"

The dead look in James' eyes was gone but it was replaced with one of bloodcurdling anger. He was practically foaming at the mouth, a killer instinct flowing around him that the older Irishman was going to have the unenviable task of keeping under control. Gerry could see the look too, just about, knowing that it must have come for good reason. A man like James didn't lose himself to such anger without there being a serious motive behind it. He rather dreaded the first answer that came into his mind…

"What happened!? Why have ye done this to him?" Mary addressed James, but he was far too angry to reply. "Erin? Anna!? Will one of ye's answer me!?"

The sisters looked between each other, neither quite sure of what to say. Erin dropped her head slightly to look at the ragged, bloody Lance. In her heart she felt nothing for him, not after what he'd done to her as well as what he intended. He'd violated her to a degree, scaring her more than even losing her child had done a few years earlier. The child's loss that so often defined her path forward in life, a reminder from the past that would never truly go away.

And one more time it appeared to do so again.

Even though he was battered and broken, there was a smirk upon Lance's face when, through his hazy vision, he saw her concerned look. He could still manipulate her even in his barely conscious state, held together in Mary Quinn's arms. Somehow, he was managing to sway her too, the two having never got on, sparring through passively aggressive comments made outside of the other's presence. Erin could reveal everything to her mother in order to finish him there and then, but if she did then he would get word out around the city about the child she lost. Private information that she'd entrusted him with, he would make sure that it was mutually assured destruction should she tell the truth. His friends would help him too, especially now that they'd victoriously came away from the wager that was held between officers.

She couldn't allow him to spread it. She couldn't allow him to escape justice either.

Not responding to her mother, she handed the initiative to him instead, the ball back in his overly manipulative court. She'd allowed him to infiltrate his life, run it to an extent as he pushed away all those that cared for her to leave her isolated and alone when he struck, only for a stroke of good fortune to see her saved from him. He couldn't hurt her physically now in the state that he was in, but it was not his physicality that she now feared. It was his discretion.

"He… 'tacked'… me…". Lance croaked out to Mary, just loud enough for James to hear as he grappled slightly with Joe. "… for… kissin'… her…".

Defeat just would not come for Lance. Broken apart, he could still ensure that he controlled her life even if his chance at getting what he wanted was all but gone. Games of revenge were beginning and all of a sudden, the Englishman could not stop them.

"That is a lie!" He shouted.

"Enough James!" Mary shouted back, glaring at him. "Ye've done enough damage here!"

He couldn't blame her for not supporting him straight away, but he thought he'd left more an impression upon Erin's mother, disappointment winding its way through him when it seemed that was not the case. Rather than listen to his side of the story, which she would have done under any other circumstance if it meant ridding Lance from their lives, she instead looked for confirmation from her eldest.

"This true, Erin?"

It wasn't but… it had to be.

She just couldn't risk Lance revealing the truth about her to the wider population around them. Just like with Michelle, she was pushed into choosing the less favourable option.

Erin could only hope that James would understand.

If she was lucky, he might forgive her too.

"A-… Aye… it is".