Hello, chaps and chapesses! I haven't forgotten about this story, I promise. I've been super busy. Thank you, thank you, thank you to all you lovely people who have reviewed, added to favourites/follows so far. Some interesting theories about why Martha is familiar to James from some of you, I must say. But I'm remaining tight-lipped for now ;)

Shout outs to: HoldOnToThisLullabye, Loki-licious1121, Kiwi, Lady Krystalyn, SilverTortoise, immysaurus, Lulu, harrylee94, KittyxCat1509, Eternal3007, compa16, sydneyramirez (and for your lovely PM!), Flower and Sparky. I love you all very much and I hope you enjoy this next chapter :)

And it's about time I put a disclaimer on this thing so I own nothing to do with War Horse, nor do I own Captain Nicholls – though in my own mind, I do, ehehe. And if anyone knows what film the lyrics at the top of this chapter are from, then a Steve Rogers badge of reference-understanding to you!


Time Knows No Boundaries ~ Chapter Five

If I touch a burning candle I can feel no pain
If you cut me with a knife it's still the same
And I know her heart is beating
And I know that I am dead
Yet the pain here that I feel
Try and tell me it's not real
For it seems that I still have a tear to shed
'Tears to Shed' – Danny Elfman

.:*:.

Martha did not see any reason why a spirit shouldn't eat; she was thinking of that green, slimy ghost in the film, Ghostbusters, where it did nothing but scoff down food. She was highly thankful for the fact that James Nicholls – or rather, the ghost of James Nicholls, did not look anything like that.

It transpired, however, that ghosts did in fact have the capacity to eat, though as James explained to Martha, he discovered they didn't really need to nor have that urge to, like living people did. He was already feeling tremendously grateful to her but as it looked like he was going to be staying here indefinitely, he did not wish for her to unnecessarily waste her food on him when he didn't really need it. But Martha could see just how shaken up he was over the news that almost a century had gone past since he last walked on this Earth, and in her experience, nothing was more comforting in a crisis or stressful situation than comfort food. So, for now, just to be polite towards his hostess, James accepted Martha's offer of breakfast.

"Please do sit down," she said, pulling out a stool with a black leather cover by an island which divided the kitchen area from the rest of the living space. She directed the captain towards it, nearly knocking over another stool in the process.

His mind still abuzz with their earlier conversation, James did as she requested and perched himself on the stool, laying his hat on the shiny, granite countertop next to him. Up until this point, he had not seen much of modern technology and he gazed curiously at all the shiny appliances which sat on the other kitchen surfaces, some strange to him, others not so strange.

Letting out a nervous breath, Martha started to bustle around her miniscule kitchen. It was a great relief to know that the voice she'd been hearing had not been due to her going stark raving mad. Still, the mystery remained why only she could see and hear James. Did she have a knack for clairvoyance that she didn't know about?

"You...uh...don't know if you're allergic to any food in particular, do you?" Martha enquired of her new guest nervously.

"Not that I am aware of," answered James, stripping off his leather gloves as he spoke, "though under the circumstances, I don't think that it makes a lot of difference, do you?"

Martha winced a bit, hoping she hadn't sounded crass and looked back at him over her shoulder, an apologetic and slightly embarrassed smile on her face.

"No, I don't suppose it does, really..."

An awkward silence shivered in the air between them at that moment and Martha quickly busied herself with the task of making coffee and plucked two mugs off the mug tree, including her favourite Nightmare Before Christmas one.

This is utterly crazy...What am I doing? she thought, freezing for a moment. Here I am, I'm making breakfast for a dead guy!

But that did not mean that he had to be treated like he was some sort of detached entity. He was still a normal person, a normal man - even if he was dead. And right now he was a man who was lost and stranded in unfamiliar territory. While he did not strike her as the type of person to accept pity, he still was in need of some reassurance. Martha quickly decided that she would treat him as she would any other living, breathing human being. James, meanwhile, watched her mutely as she brought a curious black and silver device down from a shelf and gathered various items from cupboards. He then proceeded to study his surroundings and thought about what he had just been told, about being dead for nearly one hundred years.

"I expect that you've got about a million questions," Martha spoke up after a while, as though reading his mind, her back still turned to him as she fiddled with her coffee machine.

She was not wrong there, James mused. There were dozens and dozens of questions dancing around his brain and he wasn't certain which he should start with. There was a whole new world all around him to learn about and had to get his head around. For now, he opted for the one query which seemed to trouble him the most.

"Are you certain that I do not hinder you in any way?"

He could not help but feel that his presence here would be a huge inconvenience for her. Martha, however, after placing some bagels in her toaster, swivelled around on the balls of her feet to look at him and favoured him with what she hoped was a casual smile.

"No, not at all! I told you before I wouldn't want you to leave. I know this place is hardly Buckingham Palace..." she gestured vaguely at her kitchen, "but you're more than welcome to stay here. That is...if you want to, of course?" she added uncertainly.

"Where else would I go? Everyone I once knew is most certainly gone," James spoke quietly, almost to himself, his eyes upon the speckled counter in front of him unseeingly.

Looking up, he caught the expression on Martha's face, and James realised he sounded more bitter than he intended. His eyes softened and he gave her an apologetic smile.

"I'd be delighted," he said gratefully, "I thank you for your kindness and hospitality, Miss Burton." Martha sent him a swift smile and as she turned back to what she was doing, he could not help but ask, "Do your parents not live here also?"

Nobody had rushed to the young woman's aid to assist her during their altercation earlier before her friend had arrived, so James could only assume she did not have any household staff, and nor were there any signs at all of any concerned parent come running to find out why their daughter had screamed with such distress, meaning that it was just the two of them here.

"I don't live with my parents," she answered as she flicked a switch on the coffee machine, "and I haven't done for three years now. This is my own flat."

James started a little at the sudden loud noise the coffee machine emitted. It was most peculiar. The only sound that he could compare it to was that of a rutting stag.

"You live here all by yourself?" he asked her in surprise.

"Yes, I do." Spotting the slight frown on her new ghostly companion's face, Martha sighed and explained, "Okay, what you have to understand that in this day and age, things are going to be quite a bit different to what you're used to. A woman is at perfect liberty to live by herself independently if she chooses. I can take care of myself quite easily. I can cook for myself and everything."

As she spoke, she laid out some cutlery and James noted the way her stance and tone had stiffened a little when she had answered and he had the distinct impression that her pride had been a tad dented at the implication that she could not cater for herself.

"I meant no offence, Miss Burton," he apologised.

Martha relaxed and smiled at him again. "Don't worry, I know you didn't..."

Another slightly awkward silence spiralled around them then, though it was broken by the abrupt sound of the bagels popping out of the toaster. James jumped at the noise again and mentally chastised himself to pull himself together. He was never normally this twitchy. He watched Martha open up a large white cupboard, whose insides appeared to light up when opened and she brought out a small tub of what turned out to be butter. Or "Sunflower spread" as the brightly-coloured label proclaimed.

Martha greatly enjoyed cooking and baking at the best of times, and although it was only a simple meal she was preparing, it felt quite pleasant to do it for someone other than herself or Elliot for a change.

"And here, Captain, is your first taste of the modern world," she said cheerfully, whirling around and placing a plate and a steaming mug in front of him with a flourish, "Enjoy!"

James looked to see that the breakfast in question was cinnamon and raisin bagels.

"Thank you..."

Martha went to park herself on a stool opposite him. He stood abruptly to pull it out for her so that she could sit. Martha stared at him for a couple of seconds as though unused to such gallantry, before smiling and murmuring her thanks.

Once they were both sat, Martha took a soft sip of her coffee, gauging the temperature, but found it too scalding for her to drink just yet. Instead, she found herself studying the captain as he spread his bagels, completely forgetting about her own breakfast for the moment. He appeared too solid to be a ghost, though he did look rather on the pallid side like he'd been recently ill. She couldn't help but to quirk a little smile when she saw his crystalline blue eyes light up when he took his first mouthful of the sweet bread. After all, it was the first meal he had had in such a long time, and it didn't take him long to get well stuck into his second bagel. Her eyes swept over his uniform, which admittedly looked very nice (Martha was certainly not immune to a man in uniform) but oddly out of place in her modern abode, and once again, over that raggedy hole in his chest.

He must've died during the First World War, she quickly deduced. Why else would he be dressed so?

He was such a young man too; twenty-something, by the look of him, perhaps a little older. It was a really terrible tragedy to think that he - and millions of other fine, brave young men like him had lost their lives in the war, fighting for king and country. For she felt pretty damn sure he did not get that hole in his chest from something like a fever.

When she glanced back at his face, she suddenly realised he was looking at her and she blushed profusely at being caught openly staring at him.

"Sorry," she muttered, averting her eyes back to her coffee, her cheeks now in fierce competition with her red hair.

Poor man doesn't need to be goggled at like an animal at the zoo, she thought.

Martha let out a tired yawn. A weeks' worth of disturbed nights and going through a sea of different emotions this morning was starting to catch up with her. James, meanwhile, had just taken his first swig of his coffee and felt like he had just tasted the sweet nectar of the Gods. He wrapped his hands around the mug, savouring its warmth. Oh, how glorious it was to experience the simple pleasure of eating and drinking again.

"How d'you like your bagels?" Martha enquired brightly as she rubbed at her eyes, "I made them myself, you know."

James finished chewing his mouthful before replying, "Most delicious, Miss Burton, thank you. I can't quite remember the last time I tasted something so wonderful..."

"Glad to hear it," she grinned.

Attracted to the sounds coming from the kitchen, Martha's tabby, Blossom, had emerged from her hiding place to come and investigate. She wound herself around her mistress's legs, mewing expectantly as if to demand, "Well, where's my breakfast?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, darling!" Martha cooed at her beloved pet, feeling bad for forgetting her. "I'm such a bad mummy for neglecting you."

She hopped back off the stool to fetch some food for the cat. Once she had eaten her fill, Blossom leapt lightly onto a stool beside James and began to daintily wash her paws. The cat did not seem at all perturbed by his presence, so he held out a hand towards her. The tabby sniffed uncertainly at his fingers, then after a while, as though she deemed him worthy of her affections, allowed James to pet her. She butted and nuzzled her soft little head against his cold hand, purring loudly with contentment. Martha paused, watching the pair of them in bewilderment.

When James noticed her bemused expression, he asked, "Is something the matter, Miss Burton?"

"No, it's just...that's so weird..."

"It seems that animals can see me also?"

"Well, yes – but I wasn't thinking that. It's just that Blossom let you stroke her."

James looked down at the beautiful silver tabby, who seemed perfectly happy being made a fuss over. Her green eyes had closed in pleasure as James scratched at the side of her head.

"Should I feel honoured?" he asked with an amused smile.

"You should do; Blossom doesn't like other people in general. She's normally too frightened of them. I found her abandoned in a cardboard box out on the streets, poor thing. Took melong enough to gain her trust. She never leaves the flat, the furthest she ever goes is the balcony..." Martha nodded towards the window, "She still doesn't even like Elliot, though you would think she'd be used to him by now."

At the mention of the name "Elliot", James turned his gaze towards a nearby cabinet, upon which were several framed photographs. A couple of them depicted a smiling couple, and he instantly recognised Martha with her vibrant head of coppery hair with a tall, dark-haired man. Judging by their affectionate poses in the pictures, he did not appear to be a brother or a family member of that kind. He turned back to face Martha.

"And Elliot is...your husband?" he asked her. He thought she'd said she lived alone?

"No. We're not married," she said, and sure enough, James could see no ring upon her wedding finger, though several others glittered on her hands. "What I mean is...we are together but just not married. You will find loads of couples these days don't ever get married."

Martha felt she was too young to settle down. She and Elliot liked the freedom of living apart. James turned this over in his mind, not entirely sure what to make of it all. Modern technology, it seemed, was just the tip of the iceberg. Martha was right; it seemed that twenty-first century customs were very different as well.

"And where is he now?" James questioned.

"He's gone to the land of hobbits and sheep... New Zealand," she added, at his nonplussed expression, "He's gone to visit family over there."

Were he alive, James felt sure he would have felt a heat creep up the back of his neck and onto his face. So here he was alone with this young woman, who lived on her own. No parents. No guardians, escorts or chaperones. Only in his more...intimate fantasies had he thought of being in such a scenario. He mentally shook his head, immediately pushing those inappropriate ideas away.

"But you didn't wish to accompany him on his trip?" he asked before his imagination could run completely riot.

"I wasn't invited," she answered, sounding a bit put-out, and James noticed the warmth in her green eyes dim.

Sensing it was a sensitive subject, he decided not to pursue the issue. But something else bothered him now. This Elliot chap was bound to be returning soon enough from his travels and James could not help but feel yet again that his being here was going to pose a problem for Martha, despite what she had insisted.

"Miss Burton..." he began, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Martha," she corrected, "you can call me Martha, if you like. I mean - it's lovely to meet someone with such nice manners but "Miss Burton" makes me sound like a strict schoolteacher. And if we're going to be friends, it sounds too formal."

She already considers me to be a friend? He thought, a little taken aback by her statement. The overwhelming realisation that he was all alone in this new world hit James hard in the stomach. It was some comfort to know that he had an ally – a friend - here who was at least willing to lend him a helping hand.

"Oh...Very well then. I suppose in that case, you may call me James," he told her softly.

Another silence ascended upon the twosome as they ate the rest of their meal. Blossom, realising she wasn't going to be receiving any more attention from the ghostly stranger, jumped down off her stool and padded away to seek out a sunny spot to sit in and groom herself. Martha absentmindedly picked at the raisins in her other bagel with a neatly-manicured finger, thinking hard. She wondered what she was to do with the soldier now he was here. What would happen once Elliot got back from New Zealand in three weeks' time, or if anyone else called in at her flat? How long was Captain Nicholls' spirit going to stick around for? Would his soul eventually pass on? Martha also knew she was going to have to be careful not to speak to him when others were around. If it was really true that she was the only one who could see or hear him, the last thing she needed was for other people to think she was going around the twist, believing she was having conversations with herself.

Guess we'll have to cross that particular bridge when we get to it...

Her eyes fell upon the pocket watch sitting innocently on the countertop. It seemed hard to imagine that a simple object had such curious links to the supernatural.

"Your pocket watch..." she started.

"It is yours now," corrected James, "Bought and paid for."

"Oh no, I wouldn't dream of giving it to my dad now!" Martha shook her head adamantly. "I have no right. It belongs to you."

James gazed at the tarnished piece before picking it up, running the pad of his thumb over his initials that were engraved there so intricately and with such care. Martha noticed his eyes had that faraway look again, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

"It's a lovely piece," she said admiringly, "It caught my eye in the shop straightaway. Where did you get it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"It was a gift," said James.

"From a special someone?" Martha guessed.

"Something like that," he answered quietly, almost sadly, which prompted Martha to ask,

"Are you – I mean, were you married...when you were...alive?"

James hesitated, staring at Martha with the most penetrating gaze with those startling blue orbs, and she couldn't fathom what emotion lay there and feared she may have spoken out of turn. However, he answered her after a moment.

"No, I wasn't..." he spoke quietly.

"No? You surprise me," said Martha, "Good-looking guy like you...I bet you had a queue of women beating at your door - " James flushed a little at her compliment. "Did you have a girlfriend then? Or a sweetheart? I don't know what you called them back then," she said with a shrug.

"I did have a sweetheart," James nodded, "But we never got the chance to marry..."

He did not elaborate any further than that and by the way he had bowed his head, his shadowed eyes sombre, Martha could tell that this particular avenue of conversation was now closed. She stood and picked up their empty plates and mugs. James broke out of his reverie and made to help her but she stopped him.

"No, no! You stay there. Let me at least treat you as a guest. But don't expect this sort of service all the time," she added, shooting him a friendly wink to let him know she meant it jokingly.

Despite himself, James smiled back at her, responding to her easy-going manner. After Martha had taken care of the washing up, she turned to him, wringing her hands a little.

"Righto...um...I'm just going to have a shower and get dressed. I won't be long. You...uh...make yourself at home, and I'll see what we can do about introducing you to the delights of the twenty-first century. "

She flashed him a sunny grin and James felt a sharp jolt in the place where his heart should have been. There it was again...that feeling of familiarity. Why? He watched her retreating figure though before she left the room, he called out to her.

"Miss Bur – Martha?" he corrected himself.

She paused to look back over her shoulder at him. "Hm?"

James hesitated. The enormous gratitude he felt towards his new patron was so great that somehow he could not quite translate it into words. So he just settled with,

"Thank you for everything."

She gave him one last fleeting smile and a nod before disappearing through a doorway he assumed led to her bedroom. He looked back down at the pocket watch in his hands and it wasn't long before his thoughts began wending their way back to when he was first given the watch all those years ago...though to James, it felt like it was only yesterday...


(Flashback)

"What are you hiding behind your back, darling?" James asked smilingly.

The fair-haired woman strolling alongside him shot him a mischievous grin, her arms held behind her so that her hands were hidden from view.

"It's a surprise," was her only answer, a playful glint in her brown eyes.

Beads of dew shimmered in the grass in the morning sunlight like millions upon millions of tiny diamonds beneath their booted feet as she and James walked. It seemed entirely wrong that the day was so beautiful when the dark and threatening cloud of war was so imminent.

Her hair was swept up in the style that was fashionable for ladies, but a wayward strand had escaped from its confines and hung about her face. James personally preferred it when her hair was left loose and free to cascade around her shoulders in a waterfall of gold. He did so love her hair; it shone like spun gold especially out in this dazzling sunshine.

"You know I don't do very well with surprises. Come on now, don't keep me in suspense," he grinned at her.

She eyed him up and down, a furtive smile playing about her lips.

"Very well, then... Close your eyes and hold out your hands," she said playfully, "Go on!" she added with a laugh when James looked dubious.

He gave her one last look of a mixture between amusement and suspicion before sighing good-naturedly and heeding what she said. He shut his eyes and held out his glove-clad hands. After a couple of seconds, he felt the slight weight of a small something being placed in his outstretched palms.

"Alright...you can open them."

James looked down to see a little neatly wrapped box in his hands.

"What's this in aid of?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he pulled at the blue ribbon that was tied around the box.

"Well...I was intending to save it for your birthday," she said, "But I thought in light of...everything – " And by "everything", James knew that she meant the war, " - now seemed a good time to give it to you..."

Although her tone remained light and cheery, it was clear by the way she spoke that there was still that underlying painful despair that the two of them were going to be parted in just a matter of days when James left for France, and that lingering fear that he may possibly not return to her. But that was her all over; no matter how dire a situation, she always tried to remain positive.

James lifted the lid of the box to find inside a splendid silver pocket watch. But it was the finest piece of craftsmanship he had ever seen. It glinted in the sun and he could clearly see an intricate leafy vine design and also his own initials. He was so touched by such a gift that he was at a loss for words.

"I had it engraved specially," she said. She watched him, eagerly awaiting his reaction. "You don't like it?" she asked in disappointment, her brows furrowing, mistaking his expression for that of disapproval.

James raised his head to look her in the eyes, feeling that his heart may just explode with the love he felt for this woman.

"My dear, it is beautiful," he told her sincerely, "Thank you for such a wonderful gift... I only wish I had something to give to you in return."

"You already have as I remember rightly," she replied, glancing down at her hand where a golden ring inset with a single sapphire sparkled and the two shared a smile. That same hand reached up to gently stroke his handsome cheek. "You don't need to give me anything, my love. Just you being here with me is enough..."

James' own hand crept up to cover hers, his thumb caressing the skin there oh-so softly as though he thought even the slightest pressure might break her.

"You are all I could ever want, James darling...I love you."

"And I love you."

The two of them wrapped their arms around one another in a tight hug, before James leaned in to capture her lips with his.

"Now, now, don't be bad," she laughed, gently pushing him away before things could get too heated, her face flushed. She was one of the few ladies he had come across who could actually blush prettily, her cheeks taking on a soft rosy glow. "We are not yet married and tongues will wag!" she mock chided him.

"So let them wag," James answered, a sly smile of his own working its way onto his face, "I have but a mere few days left with you and I shall kiss you as much as I please."

And he pulled her into yet another loving embrace, to which she did not object to.


The corners of James' eyes began to sting but he blinked rapidly, refusing to allow any tears to fall, keeping them at bay. He leant his elbows on the counter, holding his head in his hands. He felt empty inside. The momentary pleasure of consuming those delicious bagels had long since dissipated. Part-and-parcel with becoming a ghost, he supposed. Once again, the loneliness became awfully stifling. That memory and the fact that he was never going to see his beloved ever again was enough to make him want to break down and openly weep. But he managed to keep his composure; he was still a soldier and he would conduct himself as such...even in the afterlife.

He really had absolutely no idea what lay in store for his spirit whilst being here under Miss Martha Burton's roof, though he was ready to bet that it was going to be an interesting experience, if nothing else.


You have no idea how many times I rewrote this chapter. It's been prodded and poked within an inch of its life! But I hope you wonderful people enjoyed it. This time all reviewers can have their own Tom Hiddleston in a towel, those who've seen him in The Hollow Crown will know what I mean! ;D