Chapter 93: The Lovers

The air was cold.

It was night. Most certainly night otherwise there would have been no explanation for why it was so dark and cold. Around him there was nothing but the icy cool and the pitch black darkness, or fairly pitch black at least. His head wasn't really clear at all, almost as if he was there but he wasn't, though that was a stupid thought. Trying to work out where he was, there was a constant sound that provided a background to the night sky around him. There was metal too, a lot of metal, as well as the twinkling of the stars that was almost quite blinding. That sound though it was… familiar… yet distant… a distant memory of a time gone by.

An engine, that's what it was.

But as quickly as it was identified, a new sound entered his consciousness. Up ahead, out in the night sky, there were suddenly bright flashes of light that were accompanied by a more prolonged sound. A rat-a-tat-tat, continuously pounding the air ahead of them, along with the odd booming explosion that added more colour to the night. Gunfire and flak fire… that's what they were but they shouldn't have been there. He was not in the air; he was in bed. He hadn't been in the air for a good couple of years or more. All of that information still didn't quite help pinpoint where he was or what he was doing there. Had he gone to sleep at a few thousand feet, dreaming of a bizarre tale of heroism and loss instead. What was he doing?

"James!"

The voice was familiar too, yet again being one from far in the past. There were few men, a man's voice it was, that would have been considered to be in their rightful place along with him. Only one Irish voice, the accent very much distinct even over the sound of the engine, could it have belonged too. A man that was long dead though, so surely it could not have been him. Sure, he'd held strange episodes in the night before, but the Englishman had not dreamt as vividly as this, placing himself back into the role of pilot like he was at the start of the war. He hadn't flown for so long or seen David for so long and it all felt so real. Was it really all a dream before… was the Nazi Doctor just a figment of his imagination?

"JAMES!"

Still he did not answer, too wrapped up in trying to work out where he was and what he was doing. Glancing down at his hands, which were clasping onto his control column, the cockpit around him was all starting to come back to him. It made sense that he would be in a Swordfish rather than any other sort of aircraft, the one he'd spent the most time in during his spell as a pilot for the Fleet Air Arm. As soon as it sank in, his eyes flickered down over the side of the aircraft, to see the seas far below them, the Mediterranean to be precise. He could just tell it was by how calm the waters were, unlike the choppy waves of the English Channel where he'd trained. It was still cold though, mightily cold, which could only mean that it was the winter.

"Captain Maguire, do ye copy, over!"

David's voice had become quite frantic, when his commanding officer hadn't responded to him at all. Not least his friend. It wasn't the time for him to be blacking out or having his doubts over the mission that they were facing. They'd came too far, planned too much, for him to finally see his resolve crumble at such a critical part of the war. It was James' hour to shine brightly, not fall completely apart.

"Ye… yes…. Yes I copy, over!" He stutteringly replied, trying to come around to the realisation that he was back in conflict.

"Thank fuck, I thought ye'd jumped out the feckin' plane for a minute. Don't ye do that again, I was cacking it! The Italians would have thought Clare Devlin was attackin' them!"

Clare Devlin was dead. David was dead. Or were they. Perhaps it really was just a dream and he had blacked out once they'd taken off from wherever it was that they'd done so. It was stupid to even think that it was realistic that he was flying again after such a strangely truthful future was opened to his eyes. It was a very painful one indeed, one that was fraught with loss and anger, heartbreak and destruction, but one that saw him reunite with Erin. He'd even asked her to marry him after so long, only hours after coming incredibly close to losing her forever to an American. The name Lance Hamilton was on his tongue and he could picture his face but… but was he a real sailor? Were America really in the war because when he'd been a pilot, they had not been, he knew. James was in a crisis, not knowing where he was or what he was to do. It was starkly different to the life he thought he was living, that was for sure.

"No… I… I must have zoned out for a minute… or two. I…".

"Well ye need to zone back in mate, Taranto ain't goin' to attack itself, is it?"

Taranto. Of course that's where they were. The attack on the previously unsuspecting Italian Fleet, who'd decided to sit in port in range of the obsolete unit of Swordfish that he commanded. They would not be expected, that was the plan at least, to catch them mostly unawares and do as much damage as a handful of old biplanes could be expected to do. Chaos and confusion was what they required the most, to give them any hope of being able to do serious damage. A high casualty rate was to be expected, and in the reality that he'd dreamt of in his head, this was where David perished, and his nightmare truly began. That was not reality though, he did not think at least, leaving James to be able to paint a new reality instead. As soon as the mission was complete and they landed back on the HMS Illustrious, the name of the carrier coming back to him, he could return home to Erin's side. If the dream really was just that, then she might not have lost the child…

The Italians continued to pound the two aircraft that had illuminated Taranto for them as he awoke from his dreams, the brave flare droppers he remembered sending ahead. Those Italians crews that went to their anti-aircraft guns aboard the capital ships soon found another threat though. The greatest threat to their lives was streaking in over the waterline to attack them, the best pilot that Britain could throw at the Italian Fleet in order to destroy it. He knew that to be true from the bizarre thoughts that had taken over his conscience.

Captain James Maguire was once again approaching an Italian-held harbour with the intention to sink their ships. The first wave's torpedo bombers spread out across the wide harbour to try to draw the fire from the guns into smaller clusters, a tactic he could clearly remember discussing back aboard the carrier. The Italians followed them in doing exactly that, however the improved accuracy made the action favour them just as much. They would be leading the wave in as the command aircraft, anticipating the anti-aircraft fire to hit them almost straightaway, leaving little time for anything to be said. Timing it to perfection though, David made sure he got his word in before it would be drowned out by the sound of guns firing.

"Jesus Christ! That is some fuckin' light show!"

There'd been a fear back aboard the ship, he could recall, that visibility would be too poor but that was seemingly not the case. The bright lights of the firing guns lit the whole harbour up, making it appear as if there were guns every few metres along the piers that were trying to bring them down. The truth was not that far off, there were indeed hundreds of guns blazing back at them which made for quite the extravagant show of light. During one of their prior assaults conducted in Benghazi, where a smattering of guns provided only light resistance, there was not the heavy resistance that was being shown from the defenders of Taranto. They would not get caught out like the men on the opposite side of the Med had been.

The first shots from the Anti-Aircraft fire were incredibly accurate, leaving James quite aghast. Some of the shells whizzed past them, the Irishman feeling the heat of one almost burning a hole in the side of his cheek. It crept through the metal struts, narrowly missing making contact with him. The shell got close but some of the others even hit them. Even the best pilot in Britain couldn't avoid every shell and the fabric structure of the Swordfish was being tested rigorously when it came how well it could absorb the flak. The crews of the first ship that they were close to were responsible for the opening shots that were lodged into the side of their aircraft. The ship was a destroyer, similar to the Borea that they'd sank in the Benghazi harbour albeit with a far better crew who could utilise the anti-aircraft guns properly. He could remember the Borea… that was good. It was all beginning to come back to him, having been blacked out for what must have been minutes, when the dream was so… realistic.

Wheeling around to the side of the destroyer, the ships guns fell silent as the crews realised what would happen if they fired again. They would almost likely hit the deck of their own ship, doing the job that the Swordfish were sent in to do for them. It took skill to attempt the move, with another capital ship laying only a few hundred metres away, in close to the harbour wall. Luckily, James had the skill to be able to do so, though it meant the left side of the aircraft remained exposed against the coastal batteries. Slamming into the Swordfish's side, the shells ripped into the fabric covering, one shot clanging against one of the metal struts without it exploding.

Once again there was an eerily familiar feeling to what was happening.

"CHRIST!" David shouted as he tried to keep himself as far to the right of the aircraft as he could, bringing the Englishman back to his senses.

"We're fine, David!" James called back.

Too familiar. As if they'd had this very conversation before…

A questionable statement in the eyes of the Irishman, James focused again, more than content with their position following the first salvos from the Italians. Alive and kicking, so they were. They'd not been hit too heavily considering the full force of the harbour defences were firing upon them. His men were also receiving fire from the batteries, many of their aircraft suffering similar damage to his. None of them were being hit enough to be brought down, their low height from sitting on the waterline enabling that to be the case, but most were being damaged enough to frighten the men at the controls. James was undeterred though, providing another masterclass of aviation as he suddenly changed course. One even more remarkable when his mind was barely focused on the job. The capital ship Conte Di Cavour was lined up ahead of him, but he did not wish to launch his torpedo at the bow. He wanted to put the torpedo into the side of the battleship, to strike right at the heart of the superstructure.

Everything was… was playing out again. It was a part of the dream, the early part around Taranto… or at least if felt that way.

He could hear another drumming sound too… a viciously loud one.

The new course that he was setting them on was one which made David jump out of his skin. Between the destroyer that fired upon them first, Fulmine and another destroyer alongside it, Lampo, there was a gap. The gap was not a tiny one, but it was one which no sane man would attempt to send a biplane down when attacking an entire fleet. James was a sane man who would not normally take such risks, yet on a night for heroes, he appeared to be abandoning his principles. That or he really wasn't awake yet. Not many other men could have made the decision with even fewer likely able to pull it off. When it came to him though, there was no doubt that he could. It still did not go down well with his spotter though…

"JAMES!" David warned.

"Relax David!" He called down the radio. "They can't fire at us, because if they miss, they'll shoot each other!"

The drumming was too much though. It was his heart that was thundering alone, which would have been acceptable in the scenario but he knew it was something more. There was… there was something not right, the light fading around him, his eyes beginning to close slowly. He could still hear the guns, but they were fading rapidly, along with the sound of David too, who he could hear shouting again. The water was approaching even quicker, they… they must have been hit by the flak but the controls were not sticking and the aircraft was not ablaze, not that he was able to tell as the lids closed on him.

They were going to die in the harbour.

The water was right there in front of them, eyes closed and…

His eyes shot open again.

Once again it was a very different scene that he found himself in. This time it was a bedroom, his bedroom to be more precise, able to tell without having to look around the room. Seemingly propped up against the back headboard, he could tell from the position of the door that he was at home in the cottage. That made more sense than being back in the air over the skies of Taranto, back in the frame of mind to attack the Italian Fleet. That didn't make any sense at all to him when it was so long ago, or at least he thought it was. Just because he was at home, it didn't mean he knew exactly when that was, or at what point of his life had his eyes opened to. It could have been before the war yet he felt as if it was most likely after. At some point since his return home to Derry.

For a few moments he decided to do what he did best though; focus on someone else. His mind had cast him back to a time when his best friend was still alive and whilst he tried to regain his sense of place after such memories, he held onto David's for a moment. So many times he wanted the Irishman back at his side, to support him and make him laugh. As friends before the war, they made a brilliant duo of brains and humour, as well as being honourable men that looked after their nearest and dearest. As officer and airman in the Fleet Air, they were for a time the deadliest weapon in Britain's arsenal, the aircraft that no sailor wanted to meet when the sirens went off over a port city, and the waterline was examined. Maguire and Donnelly were likes nightmares for young Italian men, the monsters of the dark that rained the fires of hell upon them. He didn't like to see them as mythical beasts, but James would be damned if his friend wasn't going to memorised in his mind as such. They were heroes of that time.

That was that time though and in the present, the wee English fella required a clue to set him straight about where he was.

He soon got one though, a delightful one at that.

A messy blonde mop of hair greeted him, resting on his chest where his heart had hammered during the dream he'd clearly had. He knew where he was now and when, very much aware of who the hair belonged to, and why his right arm was curled around them when their naked body snuggled into his side. The sight of Erin Quinn brought him back to the present properly, where his life with her was beginning again. Breathing out a sigh, he could finally relax in the knowledge that there was nothing untoward going on. If anything, compared to his other nocturnal battles, it was quite a soft series of events that he'd replayed.

She belonged there on his chest, snoring away softly in the dead of the night. It wasn't quite light yet but there were signs that the darkness was beginning to fade away, James placing the time at around half past five or quarter to six. His breathing was beginning to become regulated once again, his mind refocusing on the present that he knew to be true. Looking around the rest of the room for a moment, he did not find any ghosts of his past waiting to greet him or any friendly faces for that matter. It was just the two of them, just like he always wanted it to be. There was a nip in the air, but it did not faze him when he had a human blanket wrapped around him in the shape of her. They were keeping each other very warm indeed.

After a moment of pure nothing, mind completely clear from all distractions, staring at the ceiling, James heard her begin to wake against him. At first it was just a slight shuffle, that could have been natural movement in one's sleep, but then that was replaced by a mumble into his skin, and then another. She must have known that he was awake too and had woken herself, not that he could explain it scientifically. There was no need for a lab coat to test for what was held between them though, because that was love. Pure and simple, a love that was stronger than all of the pain they'd experienced in the years that they'd known each other. Together again, the bond was, they both hoped, going to be unbreakable.

When she murmured again, twisting her head a bit more, James knew that there was no chance that she would stay asleep. He'd only just realised that, subconsciously, his fingers were stroking the curvature of her spine gently, from one end to the other and back again. Just having her there and being able to show her how tender that he could be again, was still a dream in itself. When they'd spent so long apart from each other in that sense, then it was a thousand blessings to be able to be cooped up together. A couple in love, that's what they were and that's what they were always going to be in the future.

"Mhmmm…". She murmured again, sinking into his skin further. "My wee English fella…".

"How very affectionate". He whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of that messy head of hair.

"Speak for yerself…". She mumbled back.

If he had to wake in the middle of the night for the rest of his life, then as long as she was there to be seen or be heard, then James already knew that he would be alright. There simply hadn't ever been or ever would be anyone that had the effect on him that Erin did. He wasn't blind to Charlene's advances upon him, having to be quite frank with her on more than one occasion about the line and where it was drawn. It wouldn't have been a lie either, he'd always thought to himself, that at one time or another the thought of being with her had crossed him. The temptation was more self-satisfaction than anything else though, never once feeling as if he was truly in love with her. There might have been women before Erin, when he was back in London, but the moment they'd consummated their relationship years earlier, he knew he would never be able to have a physical relationship with another woman again. It just wouldn't have been fair on the woman that wasn't her, to be expected to fulfil an urge that they would never able to. He cared too much about Charlene as a friend, to do that to her.

Glancing down again when he felt yet more movement, even in the dark, he found her irises looking up into his, a smile slapped across a face that he could have eaten without more restraint. Starved of such contact, it took every fibre of his gentlemanly nature to not give into the carnal side of desire around her. So easy it would have been to lose control over his actions, but that was not the man she knew and he did not want to be a man he knew he was not, for the sake of lust. Treating her as the Queen that she was so close to actually being without even knowing, he would only ever loosen himself at her request. He didn't mind anyone knowing that his soon to be wife would dictate a large part of their lives, his confidence in her unshaken. It really was a testament to the man that he was, that he did not allow her previously diabolical attitude to change his perception of who she really was.

"What are you looking at?" He smirked, earning himself what he knew to be a face of disdain, despite being unable to properly see it.

"Some fella… he's not that good-lookin' though".

"Isn't he?" His eyebrow raised. "Well that is strange then, do you not think?"

"I don't know what ye could possibly mean!" Erin replied, in a very much exaggerated tone.

"It is just that you appear to have found yourself in that men's bed… without any clothes on too. It might even be said that you are enjoying cuddling him".

"Let's not go too far! Like I said, he's not really very handsome".

Shifting herself up, Erin moved to cover the whole of him, not just with her head on his chest. As they drew closer, they could make each other's features out a little clearer, which automatically sent their smiles into orbit. The light teasing that they were enjoying was perfect for who they were, otherwise quite serious people in the day, but by night, the cloak of darkness allowed them to remind each other of their playfulness. For a gentleman pilot that had once took on the Italian Fleet in his old biplane, he was surprisingly touchy, against the grain of what all of his pilots at the time would have seen. Yes, he wasn't as hard as other commanders, but equally he didn't show the sought of emotion that could have seen him exposed to be weak. He saved all of that for her, for moments like this one when they'd woken together, at a time that was far earlier than was sensible.

"Do you like what you see now?" He teased again, their faces centimetres apart.

"The fella has grown on me". She purred, so lost in the love that she held for him. "He is actually a wee bit more handsome when I get closer".

"Maybe you require spectacles. You might be short sighted".

"And ye'll be short changed if ye say that again!"

Pretending to be annoyed with him, growling down at his smiling English face, the two of them couldn't hold their laughter any longer. They really weren't that serious at all when the lights were out, but they always were going to find each other despite how dark their surrounds were. Pressing their lips together, his arms came around her back to hold her there. For other men, she would have been crushing them, but he was too strong for that. His muscular chest was as good of a bed as the one back home at her parents' house. Parents' house. An odd thought it was to have, the truth it was. Anna's question might have prompted a hesitant response from her at first, but then James got down on one knee and the rest was history, so to speak. They'd spent the afternoon moving her belongings over to the cottage in his car, doing so in two trips for the sheer pleasure of spending time with their nearest and dearest. They could have done it easily enough in one, but there was just no fun in it.

"I love you".

The reiteration wasn't needed, but he wanted to say it anyway. He'd wanted to for so long without having the chance that it was almost too easy to allow to roll off of the tongue, but it was no less the truth. He loved her so, so much, that it was quite tantalising even after the amount of time he'd pined for her. A love that could have been viewed as unrequited just a couple of days earlier, was so very different thanks to the old art of conversation.

"I know". She whispered back, grazing the tip of her nose against his. "I love you too, James. Yer… yer just…".

In a vocabulary of millions, not a single word could describe just how much she thought of him. The padlock to those feelings unlocked, they'd all come spilling out rather quickly in less than twenty four hours, and if they were honest to themselves, it hadn't been the first time since they'd kissed again that they'd professed their love for each other. Their names were like prayers at the backs of their throats whenever they spoke, still somewhat disbelieving that they were actually back together again. Under different circumstances then he would have been back in England and she would have been dead in a disused shack, but they were brought together before any of that could occur. The intensity of the care they held for each other, was a burning, scolding fire.

To ensure that she did not feel as if she had to find such a word or words, he leant forward to capture her lips again, as his hands ran up and down her back, not just along her spine this time. She was warm, even if the air was not, her skin simmering without it being from a fever-like state. The sort of fever that she was experiencing was not a conventional one though, it was one built out of a mountain of feelings that only he could climb to the summit of. Her body seemed to respond to the touch too, melting into him inexplicably further, to the point where their skin was nearly one. There was almost just the one person there on the bed, they were that closely pushed up against one another.

She loved it. He loved it. They loved each other. That was where true perfection was found.

"Eyes up". She mumbled, catching his drifting down to the top of her breasts.

"You are very distracting". He mumbled back, before smothering those lips again.

Perfection.

Collapsing down onto his chest, all Erin wanted to do was feel safe within his arms again. She'd missed that feeling so much since the day he'd left her, to fight in a war that wasn't his to participate in. He might have been English but living in Northern Ireland did give him somewhat of an excuse to not participate, when he would not be forced too. The fella that he was, the young man that she adored so thoroughly, he had done though. Even after everything that had transpired since, they were both better off for it. He was well aware of that too, knowing that the James that existed before the war would not have held the courage to stick around and fight for her. He wasn't a coward before then at all, but the amount of strength that it had taken to not allow himself to lose her, was monumental. What it was, was the sort of effort that only a man who'd lived through the tortures of Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden, could live through.

They would have plenty of time to talk about the portion of their lives they'd spent away from each other, albeit with some chapters being more painful than others, in the time they shared together. However, naturally curious as she was, Erin wanted to start almost straight away. It didn't matter that it was a stupid time in the morning when the two of them should have both remained sound asleep for at least another hour. Her fingers traced the scar that was so prominent across his left cheek, a logical starting place for where a story could be told. Someone or something had inflicted that pain upon him, and she wanted to know everything, especially who or what. If they or it, were someone or something that she could perform an act of vengeance upon, then it was pertinent for her to know.

"As much as I hope it would…". James sighed softly into her ear. "You will not heal it by stroking it".

"I can try". Voice full of hope, she responded quietly. "What… what happened, James?"

"Erin… we don't have to talk about this now".

"But I want to". She quickly stopped his attempt to move away from the topic. "Who did this to ye, James… who hurt my fella?"

Kissing the scar, she left her lips on his skin, planting more kisses along the length of it as he instinctively pulled her even closer to him. This woman would be the death of him he knew, but he could not help but feel as if he were a deity by how she was so diligently tending to him. The injury might not have been fresh or in need of any sort of medical attention whatsoever, yet it definitely needed what she was doing to it. He didn't even know it himself until her toasty breaths gusted down his cheeks, blood racing around his body at the affection he was being shown. He didn't care if he had to beg her not to stop, he just wanted to keep her there kissing his wound for eternity if possible.

To admit to her how he received the wound though, was something that he could not do. It wasn't because the story would lead to him getting into any sort of trouble or predicament, having Smithers there for him if the knowledge somehow left the room, it was more to do with the light that he would portray himself in. Lying to her wasn't ideal either, but there were sometimes occasions where lying was the lesser of two evils. The man that slashed his face with a knife was once a fella that Erin held designs on herself, and knowing how she interpreted situations, he did not want to risk losing her for killing John-Paul to stay alive. The fella's family were still desperately hoping that their son would come home, leaving the Englishman to fight his own nature when he continued to withhold the truth from them. To protect her, Erin that was, John-Paul's treachery would have to remain a solid secret.

"It is for the best, that I do not tell you". He eventually answered her, talking into her hair as he wrapped his fingers in its strands. "I… I do not think it is wise that you know".

"Why not?" She answered, surprisingly warmly, drawing circles on the chest underneath her. "I can deal with a bit of nastiness, ye know".

"I do not doubt that". A chuckling James responded straightaway. "I just… I saw a lot, Erin. There were too many things that would not be in your best interests to know. Trust me".

"Do ye not trust me then, is that what it is?"

"Yes, of course I trust you!". Even quicker his response came. "It's not about trust though, Erin. I… I just can't unsay or retract it, if I was to tell you. And I do not want you to think less of me for doing… doing what I had to".

Darting back up, she moved to look him directly in the eye again, wanting him to know just how much she was there for him. She didn't want to hear her James worry about what she would think of him, when it would always be so much more than he could hurt her with. Honesty had served them so well the day before, that it did not make sense that they would now change their approach to each other.

"I'd never think anythin' other than how much of a hero ye are". She told him seriously, hoping the message was understood. "Ye'll always be my hero and… and so many other people's. Yer one of the best fella's in the whole of Derry, James… right up there with Da and Granda".

"You might say it is… ILLUSTRIOUS… company!" James joked in return, without expecting her to understand or remember what it mean.

"Yer old ship". She hummed back at him in amusement. "I don't forget these things, ye see, love. Ye'll have to get used to that".

"Yes Mrs Maguire".

If he thought he was going to be able to distract her by sending her insides all funny and fuzzy when he referred to her that way, then he had another thing coming. That being said, when she launched herself into another headlong assault on his mouth, she didn't really care about the scar for a moment. The way that their bodies moved against each other was causing plenty of friction in certain areas below, arousal starting to run high. They'd both already proven to themselves on more than occasion earlier on that night that they were more than happy to really show the depths of their love, but they were supposed to have been recovering, not cajoling each other into yet more sex. Luckily, her curiosity got the better of her, and Erin broke away from the passionate session of kissing, in order to remain as stubborn as she could. No more distractions.

"I don't forget when I want answers either". She reverted to an authoritative stance, though remained on his chest, this time looking directly at him. "Ye really can trust me, ye know".

"I know…".

Sighing, he was very much beaten and he knew it. With anyone else, even probably Smithers who would have to know such information, he could have blagged his way through, but with Erin it was different. The way that she looked at him in the moonlight, as if he was the great creator of everything that was good, and the destroyer of all evils, did things to him that were practically unspeakable. Being able to say no to her was always his problem, yet it was always the most valuable thing to him. So few people knew of some of the darkest hours he'd spent during the war, that having another confidante close to him that could stop him for burdening himself with such horrendous guilt, was too good an offer to refuse. There were rules though, not his. The rules that the British Government would want to put in place to stop the knowledge of a traitorous Irishman from filtering back home.

"You can never tell anyone about this". Speaking with composure, he used his hand to fix her chin in place, pitching his stare right into it. "I mean it, Erin. This information would hurt more than just the two of us if it became public knowledge".

"I… I promise but ye… ye have me worried, so ye do". Admitting nervously her palms were now lying flat on his chest. "What… what is it, James?"

He really shouldn't tell her. His mind, fighting him back, was saying what should have been the obvious. On the one hand, while he might have trusted her with his literal life out of love, he knew about how her tongue could flap regardless of the breeze. Even if it was accidental, there was always a strong chance that she could tell the wrong person, who could cause havoc by telling the right person. The goodwill that he was held in throughout the city would evaporate if it were to be known that he'd killed one of their own. One of the O'Reilly's not least, who whilst not cash-ladened like some, held reputation and influence in the community.

The battle was already lost though. As much as he knew he could try to fight her, relenting and giving into her demands was the only likely endpoint. Events of only a short few months ago would have to be relieved again, the Pyrenean battleground revisited psychologically.

Another big sigh was needed though, before he could tell her the truth. Every single word of it, honesty once more the policy.

"John-Paul… he did…". He stopped, running a hand along the scar. "He did this".

"He… he what?" She replied, stunned.

"He was the one who gave me this scar".

Erin really was aghast, a multitude of thoughts spiralling through her conscience. Immediately she could understand why he hadn't wanted to say anything, for her sake too. Once upon a time before she first saw the beautiful sight that was her future husband, John-Paul was the apple of her wandering eye. There was a time when a kiss on the cheek as a thank you for mending one of his shirts was as good as making love in her view, one that always caused plenty of consternation between her friends. Aside from herself to there were the constant prayers at church for him to return safely, that James would have surely taken part in a few times. Even if he didn't pray himself, he would still have to hear a whole congregation speaking of a man who'd scarred him for life. It could not have been easy at all, yet she loved him too much to let it affect her. She wanted to hear more… everything.

"But.. but I don't understand. He… he wasn't with ye?" She questioned, rightly so.

"He was not. John-Paul was in the army". Replying to confirm her thoughts, his breath wafted into her hair, a few strands standing up.

"Then how did he…".

Another sigh.

It was so tough to revisit their struggle in the mountains, the one that only one of them walked away from with his life intact, even if his face was not. Whether he was the better man from being the one to survive was still out there to be questioned, though he'd felt he was starting to outrun the dead man's dying declaration that his path would only be downhill when he returned home. For a time, it had, but with Erin back within his arms he was starting to prove the man wrong. All that being thought in his mind though, did not take the shine off of how he would have to tell the woman that he loved, that he was a killer. She'd known he would have to kill anyway in his job as a pilot, but there was a difference between killing a man who was thousands of metres below and one on his knees less than a metre in front. A huge difference.

"I… I managed to get all the way to the border with Spain… the last village in France". There was a hint of fondness amongst the despair, as he remembered picturesque Mantet. "John-Paul… he was there… had been for some time, I think".

"W-What was he doin' there?" She asked, then planted a kiss on his chest, as his arm curled around her again.

"He had escaped from Northern France from what he told me. He must have spent months walking the length of it, staying undetected and surviving. Although, I think he received a lot more help than I did".

"Why do ye say that?"

"John-Paul". He stopped to take on a badly needed breath. "John-Paul sold himself out to the Nazi's, Erin".

Her head snapped up at that, just as he expected it would do. It wasn't just a reaction that he would expect from her either, one that anyone could have justifiability given to hearing where he'd transferred his loyalties too. The Nazi John-Paul O'Reilly… it was shocking. Even more so than before, she realised why he did not want to tell her and why the information could not leave their bedroom. It was scandalous, the far-wider implications not being lost on her either. Still, she did not regret asking though, when it clearly was a burden on the Englishman.

"I understand how ridiculous that must sound but I swear you, it is the truth".

"I believe you". She nodded. "Ye wouldn't lie to me".

"As much as I am loathed to tell you the truth, I cannot bring myself to lie. He tried to turn me into them too, you see, my love. They were paying him handsomely".

"Wee bastard". She muttered angrily. "Ye… ye fought back, right?"

"I availed myself of the company of his two friends rather quickly". He recalled, earning himself another chest kiss for his bravery. "We fought and I think he was worried that I would get the upper hand so he… he managed to get a blade and I did not see it until it was too late".

Within a second she was clambering up to kiss the life out of the cheek that held the scar, almost terrified herself despite the event being months old. John-Paul O'Reilly might have been long buried in her emotions and long dead in reality, but he was now an enemy in her mindset. He couldn't hurt her fella anymore, but just the mere thought of the man that she once thought the world of, having the audacity to hurt James, brought about a fierce rage inside her.

"James…". His name fell tamely from her lips.

"It is alright, Erin". He whispered, into her ear, hushing her. "He cannot hurt me… us… anymore".

"Ye… ye killed him?"

Sniffling a little, she drew her head back so that their eyes met, seeking an answer to what was a painful question. James hadn't exactly committed murder by killing John-Paul O'Reilly, but it was hardly behaviour that could be approved of either. After all, the Irishman was doing the exact same thing as him; trying to survive. Morally, the banker might have gone about his attempt much better, but the court of public opinion might have a different view, should they become aware of the events that transpired, high in the Pyrenean mountains.

"I did. I made sure he knew the price of his betrayal".

"Ye did the right thing, so ye did". She took him completely by surprise, agreeing with the sentiment. "He was no good… Christ, I should have seen it myself!"

"That would not have stopped this from happening". He fairly pointed out in return.

"No, it wouldn't but… but I'd feel better. All I see is my hero getting his face all cut up because of a feckin' arsehole like John-Paul!"

His turn to take her breath away, James couldn't help but cup her cheeks and pull her fully over him again, kissing her with unhinged passion. He loved the fire in Erin as much as he loved her beauty and her smarts, his hands caressing her skin without a care as to where they would end up. What he knew was to be a shiver was felt under his touch, as she lowered her defences to allow him to explore her body without the hint of reproach. Having longed for each other for so long, neither found themselves keen to hold back when they were naked in each other's arms, still burning in the afterglows of the copious love they'd made to each other.

"You really do not approve of other men stabbing me…". He chuckled onto her lips, her nails digging into his shoulder. "I should get myself stabbed more often if this is what you'll do to me".

"No one touches my wee English fella!" She grumbled, though somewhat lovingly.

"I would not want to have to get through you to get to me".

James might have thought it to be amusing, but she wasn't having any of his teasing. He should have known better than to make such a comment, getting a sour face pulled at him when she pulled back a little, lifting herself up to practically sit on his chest. It was a temporary break from being attached at the lips, he knew, but there was a look of worry in her that he could just make out in the dark of the night. Erin appeared to be shivering a little too, though that was more likely because she'd pulled away from his warmth. Seeing her apparently upset after they were passionately expressing their love a few moments earlier, concerned him greatly.

"I am sorry, I should not hav-".

"No!" She replied rapidly, placing a finger on his lips. "It's not that… it's just…".

Taking her turn to sigh, her head turned away from him, to focus on a spot on the wall for a moment. He tried to take her hands in his, but she took them away before he had a chance to be able to reassure her from whatever fear she'd just thought of. Some men would have found it very off-putting, but after everything they'd been through, he was subconsciously prepared for responses that were not necessarily expected.

Erin found her voice quickly though, whipping back round to find a settled, if worried face staring back up to her. Her fella was so handsome even when she could only barely make him out in the pitch black.

"Ye know I'd protect ye just like ye would me". Her voice was small, but meaningful. "I… I'd do anythin' to stop anyone from hurtin' ye".

This time, she did not take her hands away, but allowed him to hold them. That was what was required to be able to calm her from her sudden emotional swing, from enthusiastic snogging to admirably protective instincts. She wanted him to know that side of their relationship was not one-sided, that as much as society might not have seen it as her place, that she would willingly die for him if that was the case. Peering up to meet her worried stare, the Englishman shifted a little to be able to maintain eye contact, so that he could speak to her properly, with an answer that came from his heart, to be transferred to hers.

"I rather hoped that would be part of the deal when you accepted my offer". His words were inexplicably light, coasting along in the air powerfully without weighing anything. "You are going to be my wife, Erin. We protect each other and we look for each other. I know that you would do everything you could to support me if it ever came to it, as I would, you".

"I know it's… s-silly". Laughing, she took a hand away to wipe away an errant tear.

"No, it is not". He took the hand back, squeezing it again. "Sometimes you need to hear these things, not just assume them. I am proud of you for asking".

"Ye… ye are?"

"Of course I am. I would hate for you to be uncomfortable and have this on your mind. We have spent too long away from each other to keep putting up barriers. We have to start breaking them down".

"Aye… aye we do".

"Come here".

There was no kissing this time when his hands moved to her hips, instead gently pulling her over so that she found herself at his side. Whether it was on his chest or at his side, it was where she wanted and needed to be, where the two of them could move forward with their lives. Denied such close proximity for so long thanks to various twists of fate that seemed to conspire against them, he never wanted her to feel as if she was being stupid. Yes, the answer should have been obvious, but it was not always going to be in the early days of their recoupling, the early hours even, as they began to explore old ground that had not been trodden in so long.

"Is that better?" James asked her, dropping a kiss to her forehead.

"Aye… I… I'm so happy with ye… ye know. This was… this was always my dream from before".

"It has always been mine too. This bloody war has not helped us, but we have time now. Time to make up for all of the days we have missed together".

Too much time had been wasted upon conflict, though it had been so important he did indeed go, they both knew. For a time, the whole country and perhaps even the world benefitted from a pilot of his calibre, and though he was not engaged in the crucial battles over the skies of southern England, he was still a vital cog in the defence of peace. There were few men who could have led the Fleet Air Arm to the success that he did, at such a young age too. Yet throughout all of that, on a personal level he'd suffered, not being there when she lost their child or being at her side at all. With that era of his life over though, the Englishman's only dedication would be her, worshipping her as a goddess if she wished. That was what she was to him, and he would always love her for it.

"We shouldn't waste too much more then…". Leaning up she whispered into his ear in a tone that made his knees weak.

"We should not…". He whispered back, their faces coming to rest in front of each other. "What do you have in mind?"

Erin didn't stay at his side for long, rolling back onto his chest, her intentions very much clear without them needing to be vocalised. She would be the death of him, he knew, her bare skin rolling across his body, sending shivers down his spine at their contact. He was at her mercy there as the light finally began to break through the windows, casting clarity upon what she wanted to do. Bowing her head down to nibble at his lips, her lust escaped from her throat without filter, destabilising his brain even further.

"Make love to me… again".

She was going to put his stamina to the test, but when she was there on his chest waiting for him, James would never be able to deny Erin anything. As Kurt Van Der Heijden correctly deduced, she was his largest weakness, holding a much firmer grip on him than anyone else could ever hope to.

But minutes later when she cried his name out into the chilly air, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony, the Nazi Doctor could never have envisaged just how much of a weakness he was to her.

The scenario was familiar but the tone was much, much more positive than it had been in what felt like years. What was years really, since the last time that they were truly contented with how his life was playing out. There was nothing more for them to do now other than watch for new threats or perhaps utilise him when they needed him, not that they would most likely be allowed to. The King was very much adamant that it would have to be a very special mission that would take his son, the one he could not acknowledge, back into the field.

What was less familiar, was the now Major Smithers meeting His Royal Highness.

For the entirety of the time that he'd been aware of James Maguire, and later on his true identity, Lieutenant Colonel Menzies always sorted that side of things. It was the Intelligence Chief that would meet with either the Prime Minister, who would visit the King or the man himself directly, should Churchill be elsewhere. For the first time, Smithers was able to meet the ruling monarch, to inform him of the latest developments in the life of a young man who was more important to the country than almost the entirety of the population were aware of. It was oddly enjoyable, especially when it became very clear that his superior officer was not lying in one respect. Despite never being able to even to admit to anyone but a close few that he was James' father, King George cared greatly for him. By no means was James a Royal mistake; he was cherished just as much as the King's other children, just not openly.

Menzies himself was tied up in a meeting with the Prime Minister, but the two met as they were about to walk back into Menzies' offices. There was not a word between them as they descended the stairs, when the older of the two could see just how contented his Major was. Quietly, as he informed the King about the change of plans, he'd told him just how much of an asset that Smithers was to the country, and how he'd faced every challenge with determination, if not always finding success. There was no other man that could have balanced such a delicate field of both the needs of the many and that of the man with the most power in the land. No medal was handed out on the day, they'd even agreed on that when the King suggested it, but there would be honours to come for the hard-working Smithers, who was a national hero in his superior officer's eyes.

"Good morning, Lotty!" Menzies called out to his secretary, who was writing up some notes for him at her desk.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel, Sir". She stood, though he did not expect her to. "And Major Smithers. It is a pleasure to see you back. How was your journey home?"

The meeting with the King came at late notice and it normally would not have been a problem. However, when that meeting was scheduled for seven o'clock in the morning, after he only arrived back from across the Irish Sea at eight the prior evening, he was far from at his best. Absolutely shattered, he'd spent part of the night asleep in the car just outside of London, hoping that the Germans didn't decide to bomb that night, or he would be scuppered. Luckily for him, the Luftwaffe kept well away, and he was able to make it on time in reasonable enough state for an audience with His Majesty. It wasn't something he would wish to do again though.

"Pleasant enough, Lotty. I trust you are well".

"Quite". She replied chipperly, smiling at him. "May I take your coat?"

"No need. I do not think I will be staying for too long".

"I concur". Menzies interrupted. "Major Smithers is only here to debrief me before he returns home to his family".

"Is Mrs Smithers well?"

Some secretaries would have been reprimanded for asking personal questions of intelligence officers, but she'd earned a level of trust above most. To some extent, to the both of them, she was as much a friend as she was a secretary. They'd both spent extended periods of time in her company, talking to the young woman about everything and nothing, her cheerful nature always making both men smile in return. She'd been outside during the heated exchanges and the frightening mornings, at times when the war seemed to shift from one side to another, and when problem after problem appeared on the horizon. His wife had met her too, the two becoming friendly very quickly, relaxing the Major into answering the question.

"She is very well, thank you".

Smithers grinned, stopping for a moment to contemplate what he was going to say next. Nobody outside of the household knew about it yet, but his superior officer and close friend were a good start.

"She is expecting our second child".

Lotty's eyes lit up at that news, just as he expected they would, though he was shocked to have a firm hand placed on his shoulder by Lieutenant Colonel Menzies at the same time. Although he might have had a daughter of his own, he was hardly one for such reactions, but Smithers was far too high in his estimation to not feel a tinge of pride for the man. There were a lot of men that were missing their children's lives and a lot of children who would never see their fathers again and in some cases, not even meet them at all. For his officer, at least, he was happy that their family would experience such joy once more with another child brought into it.

"Congratulations!" Lotty exclaimed.

"Thank you". He smiled, feeling himself blushing a little. "We did not plan for it but I… we… we are both happy".

"Please pass on my congratulations and best wishes to her". She asked, Smithers nodding. "I am so pleased!"

Her positivity was beginning to border on the side of overbearing, which Menzies seemed to note very quickly. With a flick of his head, he beckoned the grinning Smithers into his office, shutting the door behind them as Lotty returned to her desk with a smile still beaming on her face. The superior officer shook his head at how well she'd taken the news, but he was merely doing it for show. Smithers knew as much too, because it was clear with the hand on the shoulder that Menzies was just as joyous too, even if he would not show it. There was the matter of business in a time of war to discuss though, which did outweigh the pleasant start to the conversation that began on the other side of the door to the office.

Yawning as he sat down, Smithers could not hide his fatigue any longer.

"Have you been working too hard, Major". Menzies mocked him in good jest. "I do hope you did not yawn in front of His Majesty".

"I managed not to, Sir". He replied. "His Majesty was very much pleased to hear of James'… new set of circumstances".

Word went straight back to Menzies, from the Kavanagh mansion, the moment that Charlene returned. It was quite an awkward conversation between himself and the young woman, when it was very much clear that she was upset at the turn of events. Smithers could, and probably should, have called her out on allowing her personal feelings to compromise her professional obligations, but he was understanding of her plight. Even without knowing who he really was, he could see why it was easy for a woman to fall in love with the Englishman. James held the looks that he never had, as well as a physique that most other men would kill for in a heartbeat. Handsome was a word too weak to describe him. In time he knew that Charlene would recover, remaining a valuable weapon at their disposal for however long the war would last.

"Did he ask many questions about Miss Quinn? I did inform him that we'd completed a full check upon her many years ago, but I did worry that I was too hasty in giving over the information".

"No, Sir, he did not". Smithers answered, yawning again, raising a hand to apologise. "All he wished to know was whether James was happy or not".

"What did you say?"

"I told him the truth. That Miss Quinn was the woman that he appeared to love and that he appeared to have committed to a future with her".

Charlene hadn't dared to go back after, so they were unaware that the commitment was literal, but she knew James' mind was not for changing. The King was appeased easily enough too, having remembered the surname Quinn from before, that she was once involved with his illegitimate son, at a time before the world engaged in combat. As much as there was tension between her and Erin, the heiress could not say that she was a danger to James, wanting him to be happy and knowing there was only one way to make him so. Not believed to be the wrong woman to be by his side, their strange matchmaking branch of investigation coming to an end, there was nothing to stop them from marrying from the perspective of the nation. Whether they would have been able to prevent him from doing so anyway was another matter, but as she was the woman he wished to be with and was a safe choice, there was no indecision on their part.

"I do believe that he has done quite well for himself". Menzies concluded about Erin, wiping away a loose lash from his eye. "Despite that hideous poetry, that is".

"I am praying that we do not have to attend any future wedding, Sir". The Major huffed. "It may quickly turn into a funeral if a whole congregation is forced to hear it".

"Come Smithers, we both know you would have to attend. I take your point though, it may be wise to have the local hospitals alerted".

"Or the Home Guard, Sir?"

"If we are being pertinent, then the fire brigade should be on standby as well".

The two of them found great humour in criticising Erin's poetry, about the only thing either of them would ever be able to agree on with the Nazi's. Anyone whoever read it would immediately wish they hadn't, apart from a supportive Anna and a mesmerised James. Two smart people whose sanity would be questioned if it were to become public knowledge that they endorsed and even indulged in it. As part of their research into her they'd obtain copies of her work thanks to her grandfather happening to be one of their agents, though it was clearly quite embarrassing for Joe to hand it over when he knew of the contents.

As much as they could have sat there and spoke of how ghastly it was all morning, there was more to be said in a professional capacity. Smithers wanted to get himself home too, all the more reason to speed their talks up rather than slow them down.

"We can at least take solace in James' life calming". Menzies noted, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. "It has been too long since we have had theoretical peace in it".

"It has, Sir, but I do believe that he has all that he wants in Miss Quinn. For her sake at least, I am glad that we have dealt with that Yank menace".

When Menzies found out about Lieutenant Lance Hamilton, he was just as outraged as his Major. He was a sick young individual that did not belong in a position of command, and though he might have fought for another country, it took more professionalism than he cared to admit to not order Charlene to see to his death. Lance had picked a powerful enemy that could hurt him in more ways than one, but to preserve diplomatic relations with their allies in war, they took the much quieter route that ruffled no feathers. Lance's death would have been one of the easiest he'd ever had to have ordered though, should they have gone through with it. Trusting Smithers to conduct the bulk of the operation without him, he was keen to learn the final outcome.

"How have our American friends taken to their officer's actions?" He enquired, leaning forward over the desk. "I assume the young man is no longer in the country?"

"He is on his way back home as we speak, Sir". Smithers confirmed to a pleased Menzies. "He does not belong in our civilised land nor should he in theirs".

"America is not the beacon of civilisation you think, Smithers but one would hope he would not be treated any better there than he would be if he stayed here".

"Our counterparts certainly were disgusted, if we could use them as a barometer for the rest of the country. I do not think they will be lenient with him, Sir".

"If I had it my way, I would string him up by the nearest tree".

Smithers wasn't previously aware of just how much the machinations of the Yank Lieutenant angered his superior officer, finding himself glad that Menzies was. What the American was planning, along with everything that he'd already done, was quite frankly abhorrent. He was a man in position of power too, not just a common lowly sailor with no good in him at all. Instead, he was a supposed gentleman of some of the higher echelons of society stateside, one filled with complete evil, in the same vein as a portion of the Hamilton ancestors. Removing him from their shores would have to be enough for the two of them, with the man's fate left in the hands of his own countrymen.

"There were no implications upon James either". Smithers added. "As far as anyone needs to know, his injuries were of his own doing, in a separate incident at the Quinn household. A witness corroborates the story".

"A witness by the name of Joe McCool, would that be?" There was slight amusement in Menzies's voice in reply.

"Correct, Sir. The Americans were quite pleased with that version of events. I do not think they would have wanted to know the truth".

It was a truth that could not be given either, though the King was informed earlier that week by the Lieutenant Colonel. A look of pure glee upon His Majesty face was quite the novelty to Menzies, though the reigning monarch did quickly sober up to realise the situation that they faced. The rather delicate one brought about by the man's son intervening to rescue the woman that he loved from the possessive sailor that manipulated her. All hell could have broken loose should the King have not found the act so heroic, making it far easier for them that he too agreed that the Lieutenant should not be allowed to remain on their shores any longer. He'd even volunteered to give the command to President Roosevelt himself, though he was talked out of it when suspicions would be raised into why he was so invested in the matter. The last thing that they needed was for James' connection to the King to be probed, not when tensions between allies could be aggravated at the same time. None of the Americans knew about who he really was, and it would stay that way.

After a solemn nod of the head, Menzies spoke up again to change the topic, to one that he needed to raise with Smithers, when the King's word was involved.

"I assume that the King mentioned our Dam problem to you".

"He did. We spoke at length about the proposal, Sir". Smithers dipped his head a couple of times to confirm. "I am quite confident that he believes it is of importance".

"Good. The Prime Minister appears to appreciate the value too". Menzies supplemented, before frowning. "However, I sense you have less pleasing news for me, Major".

He was right too. There was more to just the conversation with the King than asking for his thoughts. They knew it would take a lot to convince him to move on one particular opinion, but they were being accosted by the Royal Air Force to ask the question, or rather the Fleet Air Arm were. Enquiring with them whether one of their former officers, now retired from active combat, was not exactly the done thing but they didn't know any other way of contacting him. The moment that branch was contacted, Menzies was notified, and from then on it had been a case of trying to find the right moment to broach the matter with the King. He wasn't a bomber pilot, but the man that they wanted for the job's versatility was well known.

"The King has requested that we do not attempt to convince James to conduct any further operations, specifically that one. He believes it is too dangerous".

"It is the answer that I believed we would receive. I was under little illusion to just how much of a risk that operation is".

Although he already knew that there was little chance that James would be allowed to fly again, especially not as an untrained bomber pilot attacking German Dam's with a still somewhat experimental bomb, Menzies still needed to ask. It would be up to the Fleet Air Arm to inform the Royal Air Force that their first-choice commander for the attack would be unavailable, though it would be he and Smithers that came up with the lie. A faked injury or a different sphere of duties were the most likely options that they had, although with more thinking they would probably come up with a far more convincing mistruth.

"It is a shame to see his talents not put to use but it would be far easier to have him monitored in Ireland than it would be over the skies of Germany". Smithers spoke his mind freely, Menzies allowing it. "My brain would not cope with another plan to have him return from enemy territory with his life intact".

"Nor would my own, I fear, Smithers. I think we can count ourselves lucky that His Majesty agrees with us".

"We can indeed, Sir. By my reckoning, it is fair to say that James has all that he needs now. The country will have to do without him".

Although individualism was often put aside in a time of conflict, there was going to have to be an exception to the rule. James' part for the country was done in a combat sense, another man having the chance to claim what would have been further glory on the young man's already formidable list of achievements.

Britain would have to win the war without him.

When the two eejits didn't turn up for church, Michelle had a feeling she knew why. If any of their family and friends were honest then they knew too, but she was the only one brave enough to venture round to confirm it. Martin and Deirdre weren't best pleased by how pleased she was to be doing so, but they didn't fancy arguing with her. She was already set to charge round there from the moment the first person, Mary it was, raised a concern. It was probably for the best anyway, as most of them wouldn't have been able to cope with what they might see. A couple reunited the day before, spending their first night together in years; it didn't take too much imagination to work out what she might find.

She was right too, because almost exactly what she thought she would find, she did. Albeit, there wasn't anything active to walk in on like she might have thought, finding that she was too late for that. When there was no squeaks or squeals from her friend when she pushed open the front door, she knew that it was the second option. The two of them must have been that knackered from a night of pleasure that they'd completely passed out. She chuckled at thought, not blaming them for getting to know each other to their hearts content again.

Opening the bedroom door slowly, she should have covered her eyes at their state of nakedness, but instead she snorted as quietly as she could. The two of them were fast asleep snuggled up to each other, snoring loudly in Erin's case. It really was important that no one else came with her that night as there would have been covered eyes and shouts that could have brought the cottage roof crashing down. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen either of them in a state of undress before, although not completely with her cousin. It was to him that her eyes were inexplicably drawn too, nodding with a smirk across her lips.

"Must have stolen that from a horse".

The world might have been changing constantly.

Michelle never would.