Thank you so much for the support for my story over the last few chapters! I appreciate all the kind words and kudos. For a heads up, this story is also crossposted on AO3, under the same title.

No° 4 Casualty Clearing Station

Calais, France

November 1917

"Those posh girls always get me weak in the knees. But my mum would bloody murder me if I ever brought one of 'em around the house." The soldier next to John prattled on as they played cards with two more fellas from the beds down the row.

"Like you'd even have the opportunity if you tried. Someone like that Nurse Hamilton would squash you like a bug without looking back. Probably wouldn't even send her butler after you, checking to make sure you didn't leave a mark on the hem of her dress!" Private Smith chimed in, eliciting a hearty laugh from all the men, John included.

John had been in hospital for nearly two weeks now and was growing impatient as his wound healed and he was no longer in constant pain. In an attempt to keep his sanity he had started a small buy-in card game, inconspicuous of course, so as to not arouse suspicion from the nurses. Gambling wasn't strictly allowed on the wards and John knew he was already on rather thin ice with most of the hospital gals. But old habits die hard, and he knew as soon as he came onto the ward that the majority of soldiers near him would be easy to pinch a few pennies from. And he couldn't wait until he had leave in Calais to spend his hard-earned cash on whisky and a proper meal.

"Back home in the real world if they saw the likes of us in our natural habitat they'd probably scream and scurry away, clutching their jewels. Especially around a dirty Brummie like you Shelby!" Another Private by the name of Mackay added, throwing down a pair of aces with a flourish, making all the other men playing swear with annoyance.

Private Mackay was from the same regiment as John, but hailed from Digbeth in Birmingham and therefore might've come from Australia for all he cared.

"Now that ain't exactly true…" mused Corporal James, his voice becoming hushed, causing all the men to lean in with heated anticipation. "My dads the head gamekeeper up at the big house back home in Sheffield for the Earl of Wrothing. Now his daughter," he looked around the group who had gone silent as he let out a soft whistle, "his daughter's got a right thing for big working hands." He said, holding up his hands for all to see, his smile beaming.

"That's a load of bollocks, James." Private Smith scoffed, shuffling the deck of cards as he stretched out his legs on the bed.

"It's not! The same goes for all her little friends too. The key is to head down to the pond after a long day in the bush and go for a little swim, especially when I know they are sunbathing." Corporal James added tossing over another coin to John who swiftly hid it under his pillow. "The summer before the war I think I had a different debutante knocking on my door every other night to ask for 'shooting lessons.'"

John laughed along with all the others, feeling as if he had never left a table full of pints at The Garrison where his group of friends were joking about the local girls. Most of the time their remarks a cover-up for most of them being wholly rejected. If only it hadn't been for the hospital beds and medical supplies shadowing their setting John almost could have felt the like the boy he was before he left Small Heath for France. Almost. There were parts of that boy that he knew might be lost forever after three years on the frontline.

As John began dealing out the next round of cards, Nurse Archibald came down the aisle between their beds, pushing the mail cart. She stopped in between the group, eyeing them up as they swiftly put the cards down.

"Morning, Nurse." Corporal James said with a slow smile that made the nurse's face turn beet red.

"I have mail for you all." she stammered out, reaching toward the stuffed burlap sack on the cart and pulling out a stack of letters.

John hadn't received any mail since he had arrived at the hospital and he was looking forward to tucking into a letter from home or something from his brothers. He was certain by now that word would have reached Aunt Polly about his injury from the War Office. He hadn't felt like writing himself since he had been in hospital as writing letters had never been his pastime.

"Private Mackay." The nurse called as she reached down to hand him his letter.

"Private Smith," she added to a murmured thanks.

"Corporal James," she said averting his gaze as she handed out a particularly luxe-looking envelope made of thick creamy paper.

"Thanks, love," he replied taking the letter and looking at the return address with glowing eyes.

"Told you bastards that I wasn't full of shit. Pardon my language, nurse," he added, but she ignored him, digging in the bag for more letters.

"And Private Shelby," she said, pulling out a stack of what seemed to be about five letters.

"Well la-di-dah, Mister Popular," Private Smith quipped.

"You're just jealous, mate," John responded as he flipped through the stack of letters happily until his eyes landed on the loopy script of the last two letters which made his stomach drop.

That would bring the total of unanswered letters from Martha up to three. He knew he couldn't go any longer without responding to her, but somehow he couldn't muster up the courage to write back to her with the words he needed her to hear.

"How's about you, Shelby?" Corporal James started back up their conversation, all the men now in a better mood now that they had received their mail. "An ugly mug like that ought to be getting you some attention back home."

Just as he was about to speak, Nurse Robinson came into view and his eyes followed her around the tent as his mind tried to find the right words to answer.

"Ah, you know, you gotta be careful when playing about. Last thing I need is to end up married to some girl who thinks I should be home by ten." His vague answer seemed to satisfy the other card players and they carried on their conversations, each regaling each other with their most esteemed conquests. The oldest of them being twenty-two, none of them had married yet or even had a girl going steady at home. Hell, he was convinced that the nineteen-year-old Private Mackay was still a virgin.

"Then what're all those letters you've been finally getting coming through then? They don't look like any from your Nan."

John's eyes floated down to the letters in his hands, scrutinizing the familiar script and feeling the shame burn through his stomach. Martha was a lovely girl, a sweet girl, someone who he had grown up with and knew him down to his bones. Even the most sinister parts of himself and his family that most other families in Birmingham cowered from. He never had to brandish his fists around her family, worried at being spat at and called gypsy scum. Or hide the gambling, as her own father worked step in step with his own since they were kids. He supposed that Martha's charm rested in the fact that he didn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn't. The weight of the guilt he carried from the stigma his family was marked evaporated when they were together.

But the war had taken that boy and his insecurities and drowned them face first in the mud.

Fighting for his King and country had instilled confidence within him along with a deep sense of pride that superseded all the doubts of his youth. He was now just as worthy as every other man in England who fought for the flag. His past no longer mattered to him now that every other man would be coming home from France a killer too.

While he still cared for Martha, he knew that the newly developed parts of his soul craved something different. Knowing that and recognizing the respect he still carried for her he knew that she still deserved something more. Yet he still had been putting it off for weeks, allowing the letters to pile up, unable to put pen to paper.

Though their time together had been short, a mere few outings under the rueful eye of her mother, what weighed him down the most about the whole situation was that when it came to letting her go the biggest emotion that he felt was relief.

"I've just always been a friendly guy," he finally contributed elusively, "the neighbourhood girls don't have anything else to gossip about now I've gone. They must be getting lonely." He added to get the lads laughing again. Alongside his spoken words he made a silent pledge to write the letter, knowing she would not have any difficulties trying to find someone more right for her than him.

As if drawn to her, his eyes cast over the shoulder of Corporal James to lock onto Nurse Robinson's form as she finished pouring a glass of water for a soldier five beds down. His attention now fully captured, the thought of Martha was swiftly erased as he watched her confidently move throughout her tasks. John stared at this enigmatic woman, who seemed to give him just enough to keep him begging for another snippet of her attention. If she was intentionally playing games with him, it was working. Most mornings he awoke with the thought of her fresh in his brain while rolling through all the ways he could get her to spend just a moment longer at his bedside.

"But isn't that one just bloody gorgeous?" Private Smith said just loud enough to pull John out of his thoughts and back to the conversation.

All the soldiers had stopped speaking and laying down cards for a moment when he noticed that all their eyes were focused on Nurse Robinson who was leaning over a bed to help readjust a soldier whose leg was being suspended by an aerial cage. J

ohn firmly ground his teeth together, his jaw instantly set at his words. "Show some fucking respect. She's a nurse for fucks sake. Not some fucking ogle toy for you horny pricks." John seethed, throwing down his hand of cards.

"Steady on! It's all fun and games. You try to turn her cheek every chance you get, too." Corporal James reminded him and he tried to simmer down, trying to keep his true feelings for the nurse under wraps from the other men.

"Besides, I bet she's already got herself a fella. Probably some lucky fucking Captain from the Calvary. Pretty girls like her love horses."

Now John really could have erupted, it was impossible that a woman like her could ever be with some cowardly prick from the cavalry.

"Well I don't know about you all, but I'm right terrified of her. One look and I'd jump out a bloody window if she asked me to." Private Smith chimed in.

"Yeah Smitty, it's 'cuz girls like that learn how to put men like us in their place from the time they are two. How else are they to make sure the servants get the right chicken served to their country home guests -"

John snapped and cut off Private Mackay just as he was about to continue.

"Put a fucking sock in it, lads! I don't give a damn how to speak of other women, but you don't have the right to talk of our nurses like this, you hear? I won't stand for it, not after everything they go through to sew our silly arses back up."

All the other men were silent, a look of embarrassment washing over them as if they were schoolboys getting caught cheating.

Besides, John thought to himself, there was something about Nurse Robinson that just didn't add up in his books. From what he had been observing so far, she was nothing like the other posh nurses that he had known. Even though she spoke the same as the others, it seemed tight and forced as if she wasn't as comfortable playing the part. John had always been a man to distrust people whom he believed to be hiding something, but whatever it was about this nurse, she had the opposite effect on him.

As if on cue, just as they were wrapping up their card game, Nurse Robinson came towards them, her face already commanding them to return to beds with only a look. Private Smith was already high-tailing it back to his bed before she began to speak.

"Off you go lads, there will be tea served."

"Thank you, Nurse," the others chimed, giving her a respectful nod under the hard gaze of John.

"Good game, Private Shelby?" She asked as she lingered by his bedside, packing up the cards and placing them on his bedside table.

"One of the only things that keep us happy."

"You do know gambling is strictly forbidden on the wards?"

John could tell from her hard stare that he wasn't going to be able to weasel his way out of this one.

"I'll end it, Nurse. Strictly cards from now on, no betting. I don't need to have you coming down hard on me. I'm too smart for that."

"Thank you. You'll make all the other nurses run to aide for the Germans if you don't let up soon."

"Well, then you don't have to fuss any longer. I am a patriot, Nurse. Long Live the King." he sang out, saluting her.

"Long Live the King." she echoed back, the warmth returning to her face as her eyes softened for a moment.

He would have done anything to hear her laugh again.

"Here," she said suddenly as she tossed a small box on top of his sheets and he leaned down to pick it up before giving it a shake and hearing a light rattling.

"I've got plenty of matches."

"Open it."

"A little haughty today for a beautiful Sunday morning aren't we?"

"Just open it."

"Jesus, alright." he sighed as he opened the small box to see about a dozen toothpicks nestled inside.

"I'm one of the better ones at brushing my teeth, Nurse. They're all mine, these." "

They are not for cleaning. They are to give that bloody mind something to do other than cause mischief for everyone else around here."

"Language, dear Nurse!" he tutted as he slid one out of the box and tucked the wooden toothpick satisfyingly between his teeth and immediately began rolling it from one side to the other in his mouth.

"I don't think I could stand another week with you, let alone a whole month." her lips were pursed, but John knew that she must be holding back the same laughter that came from deep in his chest as he clutched it with his hand.

"Aye Nurse, you'll start breaking my heart soon."

"Something tells me you'll manage." she retorted as her eyes flashed to the stack of letters he had just received, lingering on the return address that bore Martha's name.

With the sharp turn on her heel and a cocked brow, she strutted away from him, never looking back.

John supposed that he should be more pissed off, given the fact that not many women had ever challenged him so. But he was surprised that instead of the heat of anger that typically grew inside him, the flames were doused and replaced with a heat much stronger and more dangerous than he could have ever expected.

I hope you enjoyed the glimpse into John's world in this chapter. I enjoyed writing the banter between the soldiers and hopefully I captured the sense that during the war, despite the horrors they endured, they really were just boys.

How do you think Caroline will react to seeing John's letters from another woman? Have a wonderful day :)