Notes: this is a war!AU and it contains mentions of character death. Not my usual fluff.


everywhere i am (there you'll be)

The sweet nurse who tends to Ernie's wounds is single, judging by the lack of jewelry on her left hand.

"How are you feeling today, soldier?" she asks every morning, and every morning, Ernie gives her the same reply:

"Better now that you're here, miss."

The blush that blossoms across her cheeks is beautiful, and Ernie's chest always swells a little at the knowledge that he caused that reaction.

"What's your name, miss?" he asks one morning.

She smiles down at him as she rewraps the bandage on his arm. "My name is Hannah, sir."

Ernie glances down at her hand, so gentle in its touch, and is startled by the gleam of silver there.

The words tumble out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop them. "You've a ring."

Hannah laughs a little at that. "Yes, my fiancé thought...with the war going on and the possibility of one or both of us not making it home..."

"Of course." Ernie manages a smile. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Hannah says. She finishes with the bandage on his arm and moved to the one on his leg. She looks up at him briefly. "I don't believe you mentioned your name."

"Ernest," Ernie says, "but you can just call me Ernie."

...

It's clear to Ernie that Hannah loves being a nurse. She tells him many stories, stories that make him admire her even more. She's seen so much bloodshed, but she still wants to help put broken soldiers back together.

Her smile is beautiful. He could spend hours watching the corners of her mouth lift, revealing just the faintest glimpse of white within. When she's excited, it widens to reveal her teeth even more.

Her kindness, her patience are unparalleled. None of the other nurses treat him with such care and compassion. They all act like there's something wrong with him, like his injuries are the most defining thing about him. Hannah sees beyond them to the man within.

Ernie doesn't mean to fall for her, but he does.

...

Something's wrong. Hannah is not her usual cheerful self. Her face is drawn, pinched, and she looks like she's trying hard not to break down in tears.

"Hannah," Ernie says, trying and failing to catch her wrist, "what's wrong?"

She looks at him then, with wide, watery eyes, and he wishes his blasted arm wasn't so useless so he could cradle her against his chest.

"It's Neville," she whispered, staring down at her hand. Her left hand. "My—my fiancé. He was killed in action yesterday. Ambushed, they say."

She pulls a bloodstained map from her pocket. Ernie's stomach lurches at the sight.

"That was...his?"

She nods just as the tears begin to flow. "It was on him when he died. He'd written in the margins, look."

Ernie leans over and reads, I love Hannah, and 78 more days! It almost feels like he's reading a schoolgirl's diary and not the words of a dead man.

"78 more days?" he asks.

"Til his tour would be over and we could see each other again," Hannah says sadly. She dabs at her cheeks with her black and red nurse's cape.

Ernie's heart clenches painfully in his chest. He can't even imagine the complete and utter despair she must be feeling.

Wishing he had more comforting words to offer, he says, "I am so sorry, Hannah."

...

The war gradually winds down and Ernie returns to London. The shrapnel in his arm still bothers him, and loud noises make him long to run for cover, but he gradually settles back into civilian life. He never stops thinking about Hannah, though.

One crisp autumn day, he thinks that he sees her on the street. He follows the swish of brown hair for nearly ten minutes before losing it. Disappointed and frustrated, he forgets his whole reason for being out and returns home.

The next day, he returns to the same street, around the same time, and waits to see if the brunette shows up again. When she doesn't, he berates himself for having hope.

Hope is for the weak, he thinks, though he knows Hannah would have said otherwise.

...

A few days later, Ernie finds himself at a memorial that has been erected for the war victims. The ground is dusted with vibrantly-colored leaves, an odd juxtaposition given the bleak, muted greys of the memorial.

He scans the etched names without really thinking, recognizing a few as belonging to men who served with him. Then he reads the name Hannah Abbott, and his heart drops into his stomach. She was apparently killed as a result of enemy fire shortly after he was sent home, but before the war was officially over.

Tears well up in his eyes, and he has to fight to keep them from spilling over. The ground moves beneath his feet, or maybe that's just his knees giving way. Hannah was so pure and good, and he can't believe that she's gone.

From the ground, he reads the simple inscription beside Hannah's name: Nurse.

"She was more than that," Ernie mumbles defensively, not caring if people stare at him. "She was a hero. But nobody knows it."

"You okay, son?" a man with a long, white beard stops to ask.

Ernie shakes his head. "Not really."

He remains by the memorial for hours, for no real reason other than not wanting to go home and face the loneliness he'll find there. He starts telling passers-by of Hannah's devotion to her work, of all the ways she helped him heal, of how she is a hero even though she never picked up a single weapon. A lot of people give him scared or pitying looks, but he doesn't care. With each anecdote, he's keeping her memory alive, and that's the least he can do to repay her for her kindness.


WC: 976