A Better Man

Chapter Seven

Scars

Author's Note: Okay folks, this chapter is most definitely not for the kiddies. The ending of it probably merits an M rating, but I will call it a hard T. This chapter contains a not-so-flattering portrayal of severe PTSD, descriptions of wounds, and an act of violence against a female. If this sort of thing is not something you want to read about in a My Fair Lady fanfiction, you ought to turn away now. I would also just like to add that my beta made a Grey's Anatomy reference to me while proof-reading this, and I had to admit that I was one of those rare, weird girls that have never watching an episode before (what, what?).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and that you don't hate me too much once it is all over.

21 December 1915

Dear Mrs. Pryce,

Your son has been granted leave, and I would be more than happy to have you attending his Welcoming Home party on Christmas Eve. I realize that with your new status, you will probably be quite busy with other parties; however, your son is not granted leave every day, and he will not be staying long. I am sure an appearance from you would send him back into battle with a renewed sense of purpose.

I am willing to ignore your previous snub if you would only make an appearance. We do not even have to engage in conversation.

Sincerely,

Eliza Eynsford-Hill

Once in a while, Henry found himself making believe he and Eliza were still together at his home on Wimpole street, three years prior. After all, they were both under the same roof, taking their meals at the same time, and even exchanging pleasantries. He and Eliza would take turns reading the paper, and she did not complain of the smell coming from the pipe he smoked more often than was necessary. Sometimes, they would exchange glances that contained entire conversations, a feat most commonly found in people who spent copious amounts of time in each other's company. They knew how the other took their tea, and each other's opinion on all manner of things down to how well Eleanor's new hearth rug looked in contrast to the rest of the parlour.

It was all too easy to get lost in the illusion of their day-to-day life, all too easy to forget that she had a husband that was bound to come home and end it all. When Freddy returned, Eliza would sit next to him and laugh at his jokes, tolerate his pipe smoking - if he had taken up the habit - and share his paper and his thoughts. It was as if Henry only had her on loan, like a library book. Soon, if the war ended, Eliza would go back to being Mrs. Freddy Eynsford-Hill, and her frosty acquaintance with her old phonetics professor would resume.

He was old, and a fool. The boy was a fool as well, but a young and damned good-looking one. More importantly, he was Eliza's husband, and entitled to demand Eliza's every attention.

Unwilling to let his thoughts go any further down that path, Henry turned his attention to the activity in the dining room. Eliza and his mother were hanging decorations for both Christmas, and Freddy's return. Both ladies had been dressing a bit more simply as of late, especially Eliza who had little time to bother with elegance and glamour in between dressing wounds, and soothing mental anguish. However, both ladies looked very well, indeed, despite all of that - merriment, and purpose brought an elegance and grace to their bearing that their plainer garb could not.

"Professor!" Eliza cried from her perch atop a ladder, she grinned at him, and he found himself quite charmed by the sprig of holly that clung to an errant curl, unnoticed by her or his mother.

"You look positively frightful; what a ragamuffin! Good afternoon, Mother." He crossed over to them, and assisted Eliza down from the ladder. Her footing faltered near the third to last rung, and she fell forward, straight into his arms. He nearly fell backwards from the shock of it, and ended up holding her tightly for several moments more than was probably necessary. They parted awkwardly, with Eliza soothing her rumpled locks, and refusing to make eye contact.

"Henry, won't you assist us in decorating? I don't like Eliza climbing on top of ladders as though she was some sort of wild thing, when she could very well fall and break her neck. Freddy would never forgive me if I let that happen!"

"Oh, I suppose; but what happens if I were to fall and break my neck?"

"I would be very sad, I daresay, but it's not as though you were very invested in carrying on the Higgins name." Eleanor's words stung Henry, but it was unintentional, as their banter often had a barbed, but loving edge to it.

Henry proceeded to climb up the ladder, and Eliza politely handed him a length of garland, and the tools for fastening it to the edges of the shelves. He had barely begun the process before Eliza cleared her throat loudly. He looked down at her, and she was shaking her head.

"I'm afraid it is no good - have you even done something like this before, Professor?"

"Pardon?"

"It is going to be crooked already - a bit more to the right, if you please?" She was grinning maliciously as she said this. He felt a stab of irritation at her pleasure, knowing full well how delighted she was at the opportunity to lord over him, but he obeyed her all the same.

"I do not think it looks right - what say you, Mrs. Higgins?" Eliza asked, after Henry had managed to cover nearly the whole room's circumference. Mrs. Higgins said nothing. It was clear that Eliza was teasing her son.

"Come now, Professor, this needs to look perfect for Christmas. Where is your spirit?" Eliza inquired, plucking the sprig of holly from her hair, and offering it up to him in a show of generosity. With a melodramatic huff, he pulled down the various yards of fabric and fir in one yank, and threw it down on the floor.

"That was hardly called for, Henry!" Eleanor chided. She gasped when Eliza grabbed a handful of loose tinsel, and attempted to toss it up at Henry, like one would a snowball. A look appeared upon her son that she had not seen since he had been a small boy, and with a cry, he jumped down from the ladder, and gave chase.

"Really - you two!" Eleanor found herself ignored in the midst of their merriment, and decided to flee the scene before the sight of anymore upset decorations put her in a state. "Just take care not to break anything valuable!" She scolded, sure that neither had heard her.

By the end of it, both Henry and Eliza was gasping for air, and positively glittering from the various pieces of tinsel on their person. Eliza could not speak for laughing, her shoulders shaking with merriment, and shedding aluminum paper like a bird does its' feathers.

"You silly thing, now it looks like Father Christmas exploded in here."

Yes, sometimes it was all too easy for Henry to forget.

Eliza decided to retrieve Freddy from the train station alone, with the rest of the household - including Clara- waiting to spring up and surprise the young man in the dining room. The feast was as grand as it could be, and the decorations quite charming. A good-natured boy like Freddy would not be able to help but be touched.

Eliza sat nervously on a bench near the platform where Freddy's train was due to arrive. She had vehemently brushed off Colonel Pickering's offer to accompany her that day, even when he warned her that she may not be prepared for the Freddy she was about to greet. Rubbish.

The train pulled up as scheduled, and Eliza stood up, craning her neck to spy her husband in his car. After a bit, people began to exit the train, and pair off to their respective families. After what felt like an agonising wait, Freddy appeared from afar. Eliza smiled. He looked so dashing in his khaki. Impulsively, she ran to him, and threw herself into his waiting arms.

"Darling," he rasped in an alarmingly soft and damaged tone. Eliza pulled away, and scrutinised his appearance. He was clean-shaven, and his uniform freshly pressed, as he had appeared at a distance, but Eliza began to notice things.

"Your face - does it hurt?" Eliza asked, running a gentle hand over the angry, raised skin of his cheekbones, and nose. It had not been terribly noticeable until one got up close. Freddy responded by taking her exploring hand into his own, and bringing it to his lips, kissing each finger fervently. Tears ran down his face.

"Nothing hurts anymore, my darling." Eliza felt her eyes burning with tears when she noted that his lovely, sensitive hands were also marred by the strange rash, and quite a bit worse than his face... and his voice - was he completely unable to speak above a whisper?

"Freddy-"

"Just take me home, Eliza. Please."

Eliza led Freddy to the car, feeling for all the world like the oxygen had been sucked out of existence. Neither of them spoke on the way home, and Eliza wondered if he would ever lose the tension in his bearing, or the skittish look in his eyes.

When they arrived, Mr. Swithin greeted Freddy uncharacteristically heartily, and Freddy could only nod, bewildered. As they walked down the corridor, towards the dining room, Eliza was struck with the thought that the party may have been a dreadful mistake.

Her fears were confirmed when they walked into the darkened room, and Freddy caught her hand in a nearly bone-crushing grip. When the lights went up, and the thunderous cry of 'Suprise!' was uttered, Freddy backed away so suddenly that he nearly tripped over Eliza's feet, yanking her arm with some degree of force.

The entire party stood stunned at his reaction, and for a very long time, no one dared utter a sound. Freddy seemed to compose himself, and miraculously, he managed a smile. "Thank you, all," was his barely audible reply, which appeared to break the spell. The room broke out into nervous strains of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow', as Eliza led her husband to the head of the table, his seat of honor. She hoped against hope that she would not fall to pieces in front of everyone, and tried to leave his side to take her own seat at the table. Freddy took her hand once more and shook his head. His expression cried Don't leave me!, and Eliza -while one hand was still encased in his own- pulled a chair as close to him as possible, and sat down.

Henry watched all of his from a distance, trying desperately to connect this strange young man with the ridiculous little fool he had known previously. He found himself feeling very sorry indeed, despite everything. This was a boy who had crawled through hellfire on his hands and knees, and somehow managed to come out alive. He looked to Pickering, who was having a very hard time even sparing the boy a glance, his expression strained and heavy with concern.

It seemed that Eliza would not be permitted to leave her husbands' side at all, from the way the boy clung wordlessly to her. Henry, for the life of him, could not begrudge Freddy that right, not now that he was seeing him face-to-face. No, this spectre of a human-being ought not be denied anything. What pained Henry the most was Eliza's expression. She had been merry, and lively before she had left to house to retrieve her husband, and now she was barely holding on to her self-control. Bitter disappointment, fear, and sorrow were worn plain on her face, even though her voice remained gracious, and light.

Henry remained in the shadows for most of the party, observing the pair. They appeared to be victims of a shipwreck, cleaving helplessly to one another amongst the devastation. Mercifully, Eliza excused the both of them from the party early, claiming that Freddy and she were both too exhausted to continue entertaining. Henry watched the two make their retreat, relieved that the reason for the tense atmosphere was leaving, and then somehow angry at the thought of the two of them sharing a bed that night.

Freddy and Eliza made love that night, although Eliza would later ponder the events, and decide that 'making love' was not an apt description of what actually occured. Freddy was detached, and nearly violent in his overtures, not conducting himself at all in the sweet leisurely way that was his signature. Eliza emerged from it, lips bruised from kisses, neck and chest spotted with red love bites, and considerably more sore than she had ever been in her life. Freddy had exhausted himself in his frenzy, and fell asleep promptly after, pinning her down with his weight, rendering her quite unable to move.

Later in the night, Freddy rolled away from Eliza, to his own side of the bed, allowing her to breath freely. She was quite unable to find rest, mind racing at the speed of lightening, as usual.

Freddy began to twitch and whimper somewhere around three in the morning. Eliza had nearly managed to fall asleep when it began. She was unable to ignore the cries, as they became more pitiful, and desperate.

"Freddy?" She began to wrap her arms about him, in order to pet and calm him, but as soon as her hands touched his shoulders, he cried as loudly as his damaged voice would permit, and in a flash, was straddling Eliza, his hands tightly wound about her throat.

A million thoughts flew through Eliza's head at once as she struggled beneath his vice-like grip. She kicked uselessly, and gasped out strangled cries, but Freddy appeared merciless to her cries. Spots began to dance before her vision, and Freddy's twisted, angry features began to blur. She managed to lift her arms, and push her hands against his face, vainly attempting to push him away. The touch of her hands against his face must have been able to bring him to his senses, for he pulled his own hands from her neck as though scalded. Oxygen hit Eliza's lungs with a vengeance, and she coughed and gasped so hard that her ribs began to ache from the exertion.

"Darling... Oh, god, what have I done?" Eliza struggled to find her voice, to reassure Freddy that all was well, even though it clearly wasn't.

"Fr-Freddy-"

"The dream... it wasn't you there, it was-" Freddy began to sob, shamefully, unable to look at his wife.

"Freddy, please-"

He jumped out of bed, to his feet, quite suddenly.

"I cannot stay here!" In a frenzy he began to gather his things. Eliza, still weak from being strangled to near-unconsciousness could only shake her head and plead softly, while trying to quell the violent tremors that tore through her being.

"Freddy you do not have to leave."

He was deaf to her. Deaf, blind, and walking out of her life.