Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the wonderful support with this story! It means so much to know that you are enjoying it, and it makes me want to write more and share it with you all! Apologies for the lack of update yesterday, so hopefully there'll be two chapters posted today! Hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!

- lilylittle

Chapter Nine
Whispers On My Pillow

Tiredness had overwhelmed Martha soon after and sleep welcomed her. Tommy had taken refuge upon the wooden chair situated next to the open fire that radiated warmth throughout the small bedroom, and as the night deepened, it offered solace against the chilly night outside. He spent some time staring at her sleeping form wondering what would happen if she returned home. He knew he had to do something but he knew it was out of his control. Martha had promised him that she would sort it out, and he had to respect her judgement and actions. But that did not seem to stop the urge to hunt him down and give him a piece of his own medicine.

Sleep soon welcomed him also, and he had dozed off to an uncomfortable sleep sometime afterwards. Martha woke up and fluttered her eyes open. The room was still engulfed in light, as the candles on the fireplace and bedside table allowed shadows to dance across the walls and ceiling. Martha watched them for a moment, a small smile upon her face. She could not for the life of her remember falling asleep, as the last few moments she could remember were talking to Tommy. She sat up in bed, her hand immediately moving to her head as it began to thud. The tea that Tommy had brought up hours before remained untouched.

She tenderly touched the wound that sliced the skin on her head, and brought her hand back. Panic rose within her as blood stained her hand. She moved from the bed, careful to not wake Tommy. Her feet touched the bare wooden floorboards beneath her, but that seemed to be enough to wake the sleeping man.

"Get back into bed," his voice was husky and full of sleep. Martha's eyes flicked to Tommy as he opened his eyes. He rubbed his face tiredly.

"I'm bleeding," Martha whispered. Tommy turned to her then and moved from his seat.

"On your head?" Tommy asked.

"Yes," she whispered, pointing to her head.

He exited the bedroom at that moment and Martha waited in silence for him to return. He returned with a small wet rag.

"Here," he said, closing the door and making his way towards her. "Let's have a look."

Martha moved gently down the bed, giving Tommy enough room to sit down next to her. He inspected the wound gently. She had caught it in her sleep. Tommy began to clean the wound, wiping away the blood that was around it.

"It looks okay," Tommy said. "Doesn't look like there's any infection in it. We'll keep an eye on it, and if not, I'll get a doctor in to see you."

Martha scoffed. "Just make sure the doctor isn't Michael."

Tommy could hear the sadness in her voice as she joked.

"Tell me about London," he said, changing the subject.

"It was good," Martha replied. "It's so different to Birmingham."

"But nothing like home?"

Martha shook her head. "Birmingham will always be home to me. No matter how many bad things happen here."

"Where did you go?" Tommy asked, his voice low. "What did you do?"

"I lived in Camden. I lived with this young couple," Martha said. "We would go dancing."

"That sounds nice," he said, to which she nodded sadly.

"They were expecting," she continued. "They couldn't afford their rent and we got talking one day, and they offered me the room. It was nothing fancy, it was in the basement of their house but it was nice. I had access to the garden whenever I wanted. We'd all have dinner together in the evenings."

Tommy smiled as she told him about her life away from this place. It was a strange feeling; the Martha he had known before the war was a far cry from the Martha she was telling him about. She had had to grow up and find her own way in the world. It had taken her to London – a place they had planned to go – and she had found her feet quickly, making friends and taking time out for herself.

"It was nice. They quickly became my friends," Martha smiled. "He went to war soon after I got there. Conscription. So it was just me and her, and this little baby who came into the world unknowing of what was truly happening in the world. I worked as a seamstress for a while."

"Did you enjoy it?" Tommy asked, to which Martha shrugged.

"Yes," Martha replied, a smile spreading across her face. "I loved it."

"And then you met Michael?"

Martha nodded. "One of my clients was getting married. I helped sew her wedding dress. She invited me to her wedding. I was out of my depth. It wasn't what I was used to. It was a magnificent affair and then he just started talking to me. As if I was on the same level as he was. He didn't question anything; he was genuinely interested in what I said. He asked me out many times and I said no. Then one day, I said yes."

"I'm sorry," said Tommy.

"What for?"

"For making you leave," Tommy whispered huskily. "For pushing you away from Birmingham."

"It wasn't your fault, Tommy," Martha said, reassuringly. She laid her hand over his. "I didn't want to be here anymore. I thought you were dead."

Tommy nodded, understanding her need to escape home.

"Nothing made sense afterwards," Martha said, opening up to him. "How could life go on when you were no longer there?"

"Did you question it?"

"All the time. My head believed it but my heart still clung onto the hope that you were still out there somewhere. But as time went on, I knew that clinging onto that hope wasn't good for me. If only I'd stayed, aye?"

Tommy shook his head. "You did what you needed to do. There ain't no fault in that."

"The war…" Martha whispered.

Tommy nodded slowly. "Awful. Just awful."

"The family that I lived with for a while. He was injured. He was shot in the head," Martha said sadly. "It didn't kill him but he was never the same again."

Tommy closed his eyes, painful memories rushing back to him. "We were supposed to be there for two weeks. Be home by Christmas. Then four years went by… and we came home. Killing a man is bad enough… but to kill thousands of men just to make sure you returned home to your loved ones was the one thing I never understood."

"But you had to do it," Martha whispered.

"I had to get home to you."

Tears strung Martha's eyes and she blinked them back. Tommy squeezed her hand gently. He pulled her into his body and rested his head on hers, careful of her wound.

"Do you still want me?" Martha's voice was low but full of emotion.

"More than anything," Tommy whispered. "You know that."

"I'm going to tell him. I'm going to tell him that I was never his," Martha said, turning her head up to Tommy. He nodded.

As the night deepened, they found themselves lying in bed together. Martha laid on her side, arm draped across Tommy's waist as Tommy's hand rested on the small of her back. Her head rested on his chest, and the beat of his heart filled her ears. They spoke about the war, and Martha listened as Tommy went into detail about his experience in France. They found themselves telling each other things that they had never told anyone else. As sleep soon found them, they drifted off into a dream land. The nightmares that plagued Tommy's dreams remained at bay, unwanted and wasted.

As Tommy woke the next morning with the sun on his face, he realised that the place where Martha had slept had grown cold.