Another large time jump. This is the last one. Everything that is written has been researched to be as historically accurate as possible.

As always... Enjoy!

Thomas Shelby groaned, opening his tired eyes. He lifted his aching head and saw he was in the back of an ambulance with several other injured soldiers. Thomas sighed, dropping his head back against the wooden seat. He didn't know how he managed it, but he was alive.

The ambulance jostled the injured soldiers, resulting in groans from those who were awake. The last thing he remembered hunkered behind a trench as bullets flew toward him. It was his second time at the Somme, the first being the bloodiest he'd ever seen. He couldn't wait for this war to be over with. There were rumors the Allies were closing in on the German army, depleting them of their supply line.

Thomas raised his head again, causing the wound on his forehead to spill blood. Wiping it with a dirtied hand, he smeared the blood on his trousers. Once his eyesight cleared, he looked around again, seeing Freddie Thorne leaning against the wooden bench. His face was pasty, his eyes sunken in from lack of nutrition and sleep. In his hand was a blood red cloth that he pressed against a wound.

"So you're alive?" Freddie mused, looking at Thomas.

Thomas turned his head, remembering how Freddie was injured. He remembered rising to his feet, his rifle aimed at German soldiers. Thomas didn't see one step outside his peripheral vision but heard the gunshot. He turned slightly, distracted by movement, and watched as Freddie took a bullet he knew was meant for him. Fully distracted as he watched Freddie fall into the mud, he felt a shove as the German soldier rushed and tackled him back to the ground.

He pushed the soldier off him in an attempt to shoot the man who attacked him. Before he could raise his gun to fire off a shot, he grunted as the German soldier stabbed him in the shoulder. Fueled by the fury of being stabbed, Thomas released the wolf and leapt upon the soldier, his hands squeezing the man's throat before twisting it.

Gasping, he leaned up before ducking as another round of artillery aimed at them, exploding the surrounding ground. He rolled over onto his back, looking up at the cloudless sky before he felt hands grab him and move him towards safety.

The memory of the Aid Post was fuzzy in his mind. Thomas tried lifting his leg, but groaned in pain. He wasn't sure how he injured his leg as well. "What happened?" Thomas grunted, looking toward his pasty mate.

"I took a bullet for you," Freddie replied. "I shot him when he aimed his gun at you. Maybe I killed him."

The ambulance shifted, the tire dipped into a hole, shaking the injured before moving along.

"Where are we going?" Thomas asked, twisting his body to grab the wooden bench to scoot himself into a sitting position.

"Too injured for aid post," an injured soldier said to his left.

In the distance, far behind him, Thomas heard the boom of artillery and gunshot. He lifted his hand, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck. It was hot. Hotter than any other day prior. Maybe it was the fear of possibly dying in the ambulance. The wolf in his head whimpered from the pain his body experienced. Thomas wanted to lie down, do nothing, and let his body heal.

He turned his nose up at the stench of dying and wounded bodies as a breeze filtered through the truck. He removed his trench hat, smirking as a box of cigarettes fell out. A lucky find for him. He opened the box slowly, careful of his injured shoulder, and smiled, for the first time in weeks, to see four cigarettes sitting unharmed in the box. Lifting one from the box, he patted his trousers, hoping to find a box of matches.

"Here man," a soldier, with a heavy foreign accent to his right, mumbled, holding a pack of matches. "Mind if I bum one?"

Thomas nodded, saying nothing as he handed his cigarette to the Canadian. Placing one between his lips, he quickly struck the match, lighting it before touching the burning tip to his cigarette. He leaned over slightly to light the Canadians before shaking out the flame.

"Look alive! Here comes another ambulance!" A female voice shouted from the front of the makeshift tent.

Mazella Hawthorne quickened her step, nearly pushing her way to the front of the gaggle of nurses stationed at the Somme. It was her second time here in rotation and she wished she would never see the river again. She raised her hand, wiping the sweat off her forehead before turning to the other Matron.

It was 1918, and they were standing in the middle of a vast field, filled with holes and trenches from soldiers living there weeks ago. The River Somme was far behind them, mostly undamaged from the battle. Maze wiped her hands on her dress and walked out to catch the incoming ambulance. It was the second one today. She peered around the ambulance to see two more coming.

She groaned to herself, but sucked in her misery and summoned up the courage she found nestled buried deep inside her to continue this insane mission from the British Government. She could hear nurses and aides behind her moving around, preparing for the influx of wounded. Several had died on their watch as they moved three more to a Base Hospital some fifty miles away.

Maze turned around to glimpse into the casualty clearing station and counted eight beds open. She cursed low and turned around sharply. Following the Canadian Matron, Martha Leroy, they hurried, followed by several more nurses, to help remove soldiers from the ambulance.

"Step lightly!" a ranking soldier demanded, hopping out of the ambulance and stepping aside to let the nurses come forward with stretchers. In a matter of minutes, the first ambulance was cleared and driving away.

Maze grunted, tripping lightly over a rock, as she followed closely to a soldier upon a stretcher. Instead of waiting for them to lay the soldier down on a bed, she busied herself gathering the few materials they had left to treat the injured before her. Giving the man a quick look over, she stepped aside when the Doctor arrived, taking over for her.

The doctor jerked his head at her and she rushed from the station back outside in the heat to decide who was treated first. The severely injured ones they could treat went inside the station first, the rest waited. She overheard soldiers shouting, 'Can you walk?' many times before she reached the second ambulance.

Her blood ran cold the second she heard a gunshot. Female screams surrounded her like a swirling vortex. She turned around wildly to see German soldiers leaping from the third ambulance, their rifles raised to shoot everyone there. Twisting her body, she rushed to the nearest soldier. A bullet whizzed past her, forcing her to duck, clouding her eyes as she stumbled toward the soldier.

She watched in slow motion as the man fell to his knees. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as blood pooled from his chest cavity. Her eyes immediately saw his rifle still strapped to his shoulder, and she reached down, grabbing it quickly before it became muddy.

Maze didn't have time to think about her actions. She knew she would wallow in the guilt later, but her life was far more important than someone who was trying to kill her. Thankfully, she remembered all the lessons on guns from Thomas. She spun around clumsily and aimed the rifle toward a man rushing toward her. Maze squinted one eye and with quick calculation, she fired off the first round. She never watched if the bullet hit the man or not.

She turned slightly to her left to see another one aiming a gun at a fellow nurse and squeezed the trigger again.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" she heard someone shout loudly over the din.

Lowering her borrowed rifle, her body shook with tremors as she gasped for air. She survived this encounter. Dead bodies were strewn around her feet as she trembled. Gentle hands removed the rifle from her loose fingers and she sucked in air and turned to hurry back to the station.

Thomas ducked as a bullet flew over his head. He twisted his aching body wrong and tripped over something, landing roughly in the mud. Pain shot up his leg as he realized he injured himself again. He rolled over, looking up at the sky, and wondered if today was his last day. That finally, death caught up to him in this madness.

Strong hands lifted him from the sticky mud, carrying him toward the large tent in the middle of the field. He wasn't aware of where he was or what they were going to do to him, except maybe to patch him up.

"Sit here. A nurse or doctor will be with you shortly," a commanding voice said before leaving.

A cup of fluid was shoved in his free hand a second later. Shakily, he raised the cup to his lips and sighed, tasting tepid water. It was better than nothing. He raised his head to see Freddie being brought in and sat down on a nearby bed. An aide hurried toward him, with a large handful of white cloth in her hands.

He winced when she gently took the sodden red one away from him and pressed a clean one against the knife wound he received. He swore to himself, wishing he was home in Birmingham, where his biggest problem would be nosy coppers.

"How much longer?" he rasped, gaining her attention.

The young woman whirled around, her eyes panicky, "I—I'm not sure. I can find out?"

"Don't worry about it," Thomas replied, easing her worry.

Maze rushed into the station and stopped for a split second before the surgeon called for her to attend him. As she passed a washing station, Maze stopped to wash the blood off her hands, then turned to the surgeon who disappeared behind the curtains of the operating room.

She held her breath, and her tears as she stepped past the curtains. On the table was a man crying in agony. Her eyes quickly assessed him as she rushed inside at the command of the surgeon. His shirt was torn in half, his right arm below the elbow covered in blood. His chest peppered in bullet holes. The surgeon was trying to pull out with a large pair of clamps.

Maze reached for a wet cloth to clear the blood away to see what other injuries laid on this man. She wanted to run away and never see this place again. Amidst all the blood on his body, there were three bullet wounds. She cleaned his right arm, discovering a wound. She didn't wait for the surgeon's orders and reached for the closest bottle of antiseptic. Giving it a shake, she pulled the stopper and tipped the bottle onto the half cleaned wound. The man screamed as the antiseptic burned.

Wincing, she shoved her hands in her uniform and found the needle and sewing kit she kept in there. In a matter of seconds, she threaded the needle and worked on stitching him up.

Once done, she bit the thread and hoped this man made it home.

Leaving the operating room a few minutes later, she stopped by the washing station and cleaned her hands again. Maze hated the sight of blood on them. It truly made her feel unclean. She found a spare towel and cleaned up before moving to the next soldier in line.

"Matron Hawthorne, you're needed back in the OR," a VAD exclaimed, hurrying over to her. The girl's arms were full of white cloth and bandages.

Sucking in her breath, she turned around and walked back to the operating room. Pushing the curtain open, she cursed to herself. Sitting there on the bed, Freddie Thorne turned to see who walked in.

Avoiding his gaze, she busied herself with equipment the surgeon needed. Setting them on the table, they turned to see a nursing sister open the flap, telling the surgeon he was needed elsewhere.

"I'll leave this in your hands," the tired surgeon said, stepping away and following the nursing sister.

Maze refused to speak as she busied herself to clean the bullet wound on Freddie's right shoulder. Shoving her hand in her dress, she pulled out the sewing kit. Maze frowned, unaware she put it back in the dress.

Freddie Thorne said nothing, watching the nurse in front of him gather what she needed to stitch him up. The doctor pulled the bullet from his shoulder, leaving this nurse to finish patching him up. A young girl bustled in with a change of equipment and carrying a pitcher with a tin cup. Shakily, the girl handed it to him. He gave her a tiny grin, making the young girl blush prettily.

"Oww!" he snapped, feeling the first pinch of the needle inserted into his skin.

The nurse in front of him said nothing. It frustrated him because she kept her head down and her eyes averted from him. This made him curious. None of the other nurses acted this way.

"Matron Hawthorne," a female voice called from the opened curtains.

"Yes?" Maze paused her sewing to spin around to see.

"When you're done here, there's another one to sew up," the nurse instructed, realizing she told the Matron what to do.

Nodding, he watched the Matron turn to look at him. What he saw made his mouth drop open. His nurse turned out to be Mazella Hawthorne. The same woman that Thomas coveted at home.

"So," Freddie began, wincing at the pain, "Does Thomas know you're here?"

The way she stopped moving proved his point. Thomas would lose his mind seeing her in the middle of a battlefield stitching up soldiers. If it wasn't him, she would have deflected and asked who Thomas was. This woman in front of him shook with a tremor of fear.

"No, he doesn't." Maze responded quietly, but kept sewing until she was done with him.

Freddie whistled quietly, shaking his head at her, hoping to avoid the row that was going to happen. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Thomas grunted, shifting on the bed they placed him on ten minutes ago. The water in his tin cup was gone, making him feel better, but not much more so. He looked around, seeing the beds full of injured as nurses, VADs and doctors moved with practiced precision, moving and treating the wounded as quickly and efficiently as they could.

A harried nurse came up to him, her hands full of cloth and antiseptic. Setting them down on a table beside the bed, she quickly removed the bloodied cloth, giving it to a VAD before helping him strip off his shirt.

"Nasty gash you've got there," she motioned to the knife wound beside his shoulder. "I can sew it for you now or you can wait for the Matron. She's the best of us."

"I can wait for a few more minutes," Thomas replied quietly.

"Up on the bed with you," she instructed.

Slowly, Thomas moved his body around to lie back on the bed. He watched with interest as the nurse bustled around the bed and lifted his left trouser to inspect the gash on the leg as well. Her elbow bumped his boot making him hiss.

"What did I hit?" she asked, looking up at him worryingly.

"Think me ankle is busted," he grunted, closing his eyes.

He felt her gently unlace the boot and pulled it off. The boot fell to the floor with a loud thunk. After stripping him of his sock, she casually looked over his ankle.

"Well, you're in luck. It's not broken. Just sprained from what I can tell. You won't be running into battle for a week," she offered, giving him a smile.

As if that was a good thing, he mused. He would be stuck here for a week, letting his ankle heal before they threw him back into the trenches. Thomas closed his eyes and let the nurse clean the gash on his leg. He still wasn't sure how he got the gash, but it was getting treated.

"There," the nurse said, wiping her hands clean. "I'll send the Matron in a minute. I'm sure she's done in the operating room."

Thomas nodded his head, his eyes still closed. It was quieter here. Better than being in the forefront of battle where the sounds of artillery and gunshot were commonplace. The only sounds here were cries of pain and dulled senses. Maybe the occasional shout for a nurse or supplies.

Tired of laying down, Thomas moved around to a sitting position. The gash on his leg was bandaged tightly, stemming the flow of blood. His ankle, wrapped in similar gauze, ached and wished the nurse would have given him painkillers.

"Yes-yes, I'll be there shortly," a nurse shouted over her shoulder as she came toward him.

"Now, I'm-," she said, pausing to turn her head to look at him clearly. "Fuck."

Thomas narrowed his eyes at seeing who the nurse was. Anger rapidly boiled in his veins, hot and ready for a fight. The wolf in his head snarled viciously, seeing one of the few people he didn't want to see in the middle of a battlefield. He could feel the beat of his heart tap with the rush of his anger. His body shivered as he suppressed the urge to shift.

Mazelle Hawthorne.

"The fuck are you doing here?" Thomas seethed quietly, trying to rise to his feet, nevermind the fact that he was shirtless and wore one boot.

Maze narrowed her eyes at his vitriolic words. She could feel the anger pouring off him in waves like a magical pulse. Instead of fighting with him, Maze tried to ignore him, much to his anger.

"I said….," Thomas struggled to stand up before she placed two hands on his shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed.

"Shut your gob, Thomas Shelby," Maze hissed, looking around and hoping no one saw the arguing. "Let me do my fucking job."

His eyes narrowed into slits as he watched her reach into a pocket and pull out a sewing kit. "I'm going to stitch you up. Then check you over to make sure the sister nurse missed nothing, all right?"

Lost in his anger, Thomas could only nod. His body heated volcanically, making his vision fuzzy.

"Why are you here?" he demanded, watching her thread the needle. He huffed when she didn't answer him immediately.

"Working," she muttered, stepping close to him. She should have given him a numbing agent for the stitching. Should have.

A loud boom from miles away could be heard as she shoved the needle into his chest. Leaning close, she slowly stitched him up, refusing to look at Thomas the entire time.

"You need to leave," he grunted. "This isn't a place for you."

Maze ignored him still, making him angrier. He didn't give a fuck if she was sewing him up or not. He wanted fucking answers! Who the fuck else knew she was here? He went to stand up again, but a sharp look from her and slight jab of the needle kept him sitting, much to his anger.

"You can't tell me what to do, Thomas," Maze snapped, breaking the thread. She grabbed a cloth, dunking it into a bucket of clean water before wringing it out.

As she turned to clean the rest of the blood off his shoulder, he gripped her wrist. His pale blue eyes darkened to nearly black in his fury at seeing her.

"I'm telling you to fucking leave, Maze."

"And I'm telling you no," she shot back, snatching her wrist from him. She wiped the blood off his shoulder before turning to toss it to a passing VAD.

"You-," he began, his fury rising at her dismissal.

"What?" she shot back, her anger finally matching his. "Lay on the bed, now."

His growl was inhuman, but he agreed and struggled to lie back down. Maze watched him, refusing to help even though it was her nature to do so. "Are you going to help me?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, placing her hands on her hips. "You seem to have it."

He scowled at her as he laid back against the worn pillow. His gaze followed her as she moved around the bed to inspect the wound on his leg. Unwrapping the bandage, she clucked her tongue and walked back to the table to gather what she needed. Scooting his leg over, she sat down and stitched the gash.

When at last she finished, Thomas watched as she moved around the bed. Quick as he could, he moved to a sitting position, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the bed. Grabbing her by the arm, he jerked her back to him.

"I want your arse on the train to a fucking boat by morning," he seethed. He wanted to lash out and hurt something... someone for this. Whoever let her leave was going to face his fury when he made it back home.

Maze jerked her arm away from him, cradling it for a second before she finally had enough of his impertinence.

Slap.

He reeled back from the sting on his face. He tried to stand up again, this time to make his point with her, but her glare stopped him from rising.

"Don't even fucking try it, Thomas Shelby," she hissed. "Stop being an arsehole and let me do me fucking job."

With that, she turned and left. He watched as a Doctor approached her and saw the man point his finger toward him. He cocked his head to listen, "Matron Hawthorne, we do not slap the soldiers, no matter what the reason might be."

Thomas smothered a smirk, hoping this was enough to send her home.

He didn't see her for two days.

Thomas woke the moment she entered the station. His eyes narrowed at her as he rose to move to sit up in bed. His body ached as he moved. Coming to a sitting position, he lost sight of Maze. Fury boiled in his guts, seeing her still there, against his wishes. Nay, more like his demands.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his hands on the edge of the thin mattress. His wounds were slowly healing, thanks to the care of the nurses. As long as he could hobble, he could move around and outside to sit. He did it yesterday, but with help from an orderly.

"How are we feeling today, Sergeant Major Shelby?" a VAD walked toward his bed pushing a trolley with tea service and breakfast.

"Alive," Thomas muttered, watching her stop and wait for him to sit back in the bed to have his breakfast.

"They will check your wounds after breakfast," she replied, setting a tray of rations down in front of him. His stomach rumbled with hunger. Giving the girl the best smile he could muster, he didn't see her leave.

Reaching for his rationed tea, it surprised him it was warm. Maybe being injured wasn't so bad after all. In the trenches, the food stayed cold unless someone built a fire to warm the rations. Like several others, they would wander off to hunt when meat became low.

Once he shoved the breakfast ration down, a VAD returned to retrieve the tray and a nurse took her place. Thomas refused to ask for Maze. Anger simmered under his skin, and he forced himself to calm down. It would do no good to lose his temper here.

After the nurse checked and redressed his bandages, Thomas rose from the bed unsteadily to limp his way outside. The air was warm as the sun peeked through the clouds. He hobbled further out, looking around. He wanted to find Maze and force her to go home.

Behind the station were two rows of tents. He knew these to be where the nurses slept. His ankle burned as he hobbled toward the tents. She would be there somewhere, he knew it. Around him, sitting in rows, were soldiers being bandaged outside the station. He passed by them, unaware that Freddie was watching.

In the distance, he saw nurses sitting around tents, conversing and taking time from caring for the soldiers. A breeze whipped by him, making the flaps of the tents move.

"There you are, Tommy," Freddie's voice called out from behind him.

Thomas turned around, eyeing his friend. He stopped and waited as Freddie walked closer. Unlike himself, Freddie was far less injured than he was. It irritated him that Freddie would take a bullet meant for him. He didn't care if he died, but he would make sure Maze left the battlefield alive.

"I see you're alive," Thomas ground out, looking around the tents.

"Barely. Maze came in and stitched me up," Freddie said casually.

Thomas whipped his head around. He hobbled quickly to Freddie, ready to tear his throat out. "You saw her?" he seethed.

Freddie cocked his head, studying him. Thomas hated that. "Aye, I did. I'm guessin' you saw her too?"

Thomas snarled, his anger rising to the surface. He saw his eyes flash amber in Freddie's dark ones. He inhaled sharply, trying to push his anger down. "I saw her."

"Do you know when you're going back?" Freddie asked, trying to change the subject.

"I don't know…. soon," Thomas said, distractedly.

"Looking for her, eh?" Freddie asked, walking toward his supposed best mate.

"I'm going to…," Thomas began, but paused, seeing her come out of the station and toward them. Freddie took his leave, walking away to join a group of recovering soldiers that would be shipped out in two days.

Thomas leaned heavily on his good leg as Maze walked closer. It surprised him she didn't turn the other direction just to avoid him. Since his arrival, Thomas wasn't completely sure why his stomach boiled in fury seeing her there, amongst the wounded and war-torn fields.

He watched her stop a few yards from him, her eyes observing him. She knew his anger toward her was founded, but at the same time, she wasn't sure if it was Thomas or the wolf that was angry.

"I told you to leave," Thomas spat, eyeing her, still in her nurse's uniform.

"And I told you, I'm not leaving. I'm needed…."

"You're needed in Birmingham! You could spend your time nursing the wounded back home," he snapped, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I'm not a fucking child anymore," she seethed, stepping closer to him. "I can make my own decisions."

"Not this one you…," he began

"I'm here, aren't I?" she interrupted him, knowing it would anger him further.

His eyes flashed in warning. "How long have you been here?"

Maze crossed her arms, turning her head away from him. It wasn't his decision, and she didn't need to answer him. A breeze swept by them, yet she refused to answer him.

"Maze, I asked you a fucking question."

She whipped her head back at him, her eyes narrowing at his demand. "Does it matter? You're still going to yell at me like I'm a child. Gonna box my ears too while you're at it?"

He swore, turning his head away from her. For the first time since they dropped him off on the shores of France, he wanted to go back to the war. Away from her. Away from his madness that she thought she could handle.

"Now you're acting like a child," Thomas snapped.

"Not like you're doing any better," Maze muttered under her breath, knowing full well he could hear her.

"What was that?" he demanded, taking another step closer to her.

"You're not my father, Thomas. I will leave when they send me home. But for now, I am going to stay here, do my job and then and only then when this war is over, I will go back to Birmingham," she snapped, turning away from him to walk back to the station.

Freddie rejoined him a second later, realizing the argument was over. Thomas turned to his former best mate, catching his eye. There was one person in this entire area that agreed that Maze should be sent home, but unlike Thomas, Freddie kept his mouth shut.

"That didn't go well, did it?" Freddie asked, watching Maze storm off.

"She needs to take her arse back to BIRMINGHAM," Thomas shouted the last word loudly enough that Maze stopped in her tracks before continuing her walk back to the station.

Over the din of the clearing station, Thomas strained his ears to hear Maze whisper to herself, "God grant me patience because if you grant me strength, I'm going to kick his fucking ass."

Thomas snorted lightly at her words. He wasn't sure how she would carry out her threat, but as he watched her walk away, he contemplated if she could have kicked his arse.

A week later, Thomas climbed onto the train, healed from his injuries to be dropped off somewhere else. He didn't see Maze again until after they arrived home in Birmingham.