HOLY MOSES ON A CRACKER DUDES, I FINALLY FINISHED A FIC! Crazytown! Many, many thanks to everyone who's read this dumb fic/commented on it/looked at it sidways, even. ILU GUYS DDDD:

Btw, I did a ~*~special DVD bonus features~*~ thing (aka, "I ramble about writing this fic and my Walter/Una emotions") over at my livejournal (polytechnics) so! Feel free to check that out if u wish! :)

Anons!

Marz: I'm glad! :) Thank you for all your reviews (you've been here since the beginning!) Re: Jem being wounded and missing, that's one of the ~deleted scenes~ so...I'll probably put that up sometime...eventually. :P

Zuzi: Meeeep I'm glad you liked it! I reaaaally hate romantic gestures, haha (I'm a cold person :P) so I tried to avoid them and I'm glad it worked! Ty for your reviews ^_^

Anon: Haha, one of the reasons the chapter was kind of hard to write was because I had a v. clear picture of it, and then had to write it down. So I'm glad that that quality came across :) And those were my favorite parts, too! :P Thank you!

Tiny Teddy: Thank you for all the reviews! Glad you liked it! :D

Title from "The Last Snowfall" by Vienna Teng.


epilogue: the last snowfall

The snow comes early this year, drawing its white sheets over the Glen, turning the days bright like the flash from an explosion. At night, Walter looks out the window as he always does, looks at the pale moon over the pale ground, and wonders - well, there is not much to wonder about, now. The Flanders trenches must be quiet now, no more evening hate and nighttime raids, shells and shouts - the howl of the wind the only sound.

But then, for all the silence, they are not quite empty. Thousands of men left sleeping 'somewhere in France', who will never come back home. Some things, Walter knows, will remain.


The noise in the party is overwhelming - too many people, all talking and laughing and shouting, songs played clumsily on the piano, glasses clinking. Walter has to slip away, after a while.

The party tonight doesn't quite have an express purpose. It is for Carl, in part - Jerry has written, he expects to be back in January; Shirley won't be back till spring or even summer, nor will Faith - it is in part for Mary and Miller, who are officially engaged and planning a fall wedding. It is in part for him, for shortly before Christmas, a Toronto publisher had sent him a letter agreeing to publish a collection of his poetry. Walter had been dumbfounded, until the call from Di came, asking if her and Nan's clandestine plan had succeeded. They are dear girls, his sisters.

"The Aftermath" had been published, coincidentally, on the anniversary of his injury. It made less of a stir than expected - several other fellows had been writing their own poems; in July one named Sassoon had written a letter as well, and in all that excitement, Walter's poem had been quite lost - floating to the surface throughout 1918 in petitions for peace and sentimental papers, then sinking again. That is all right with him. It is enough that it is written at all.

"I thought you'd be out here," comes Una's voice. She comes to sit next to him, their shoulders pressing together. It is comforting to be so close to her, feel the softness of her body through her clothes, the movement of her breathing - feel that she is alive and so is he, and she is near him.

The party is - or should be - for Una, too. Her birthday is in a few days, although it is always somewhat buried under excitement for Christmas - and now the elation of victory. But Walter remembers.

"Too loud?" she asks, and he nods.

"Too loud."

"We can't stay outside for too long," Una points out, rather prosaically. Still, she is right - neither of them have a coat or a scarf. The tips of her fingers are already bright red.

He shrugs and leans in to kiss her, catching her lower lip between his own when she tilts her face to him. Her breath is warm in his mouth, and for a moment he forgets the cold around them, heat coiling low in his stomach. Kissing Una, he's found, is a bit dangerous - it is hard to stop, once he starts. But stop he does, drawing back - but not too far. Her hand curls into his collar, keeping him close when they part.

She leans against him, and he shifts to lean his head on hers, her hair soft against his face. She smells of smoke from the fire inside, and flour from baking bread. The scents are familiar, dear to him now - as everything about her is. It is true that she had not lied, that night in Rainbow Valley - at times, she buries her feelings deep, her face white with pent-up hurt and anger, and coaxing her out of such a mood is like pulling teeth. But he is patient for love of her, as she is with him, and he is almost perfectly content, at times. And that, he thinks, is the most he can ask for.

They are silent for a while, listening to the sounds coming from inside. There's a rousing cheer and some groans - likely someone had won a round of cards. Walter is not sure how Carl can stand all the noise. Perhaps he too has slipped out, gone down to Rainbow Valley in blessed silence.

"How is Carl?" he wonders aloud.

Una gives a little sigh, her breath clouding in front of them before disappearing. "He's - well enough, I suppose. He sleeps - more than he used to."

"He has quite a bit of sleep to catch up on."

"And his eye - " she motions to her own as though she can communicate Carl's troubles that way.

Walter nods. He knows.

They lapse back into silence, for they have never needed very many words between them. Una's hand slips into his, their fingers folding around each other. Walter suddenly feels an intense burst of something like gratitude - that he is here, that he is with her. Lucky, they had called him, once. Perhaps it was not entirely untrue.

"What are you thinking of?" Una asks, her voice almost sleepy.

"I was thinking…" Walter pauses, then shakes his head. "This moment, now...I'm quite happy."

Una makes a muffled noise - a laugh or a cry, he is not sure. The wind whistles more sharply, the air becoming colder. A few flakes of snow float down, catching in Una's hair, melting against their skin. They will have to go in soon, before they catch their death of cold.

But we can stay for a little longer, Walter thinks, and so they sit, lending each other their warmth, as the snow falls around them.