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December, 1775

James shut the lab's door softly behind him, exhaling slowly through his teeth. For a few, silent moments he simply stood there, casting his gaze over the shadowed contents of the shop; night had crept up on him while he was in there talking to Ben and the evening was silent, calm...almost serene.

Outwardly, at least. To him it felt like the walls were caving in.

It was just...he had been so sure of his convictions when he'd first gone in there. Had his heart set upon what he must do, and had rehearsed the speech to his employer inside of his head what must have been one thousand times. But Ben had that special way about him - the kindly goading of a gentleman, with his soft spoken manner and intelligence to boot, all of which somehow managed to make you question your decisions before you'd even fully realized you had done so. Add to that the fact that Benjamin Franklin was the closest thing to a father that he had and - well. His opinions went a long, long way.

James scrubbed a hand down his face, suddenly weary. Times such as these confused the senses, he supposed - for it was not every day that the Colonies found themselves at war with Great Britain. Our duties beckon, just as the eyes of our future selves do, Ben had said to him not ten minutes before. He had fixed him with a steady gaze, his eyes holding within them that familiar, mirthful light. And your destiny will ride upon the choices you make today. Remember that, James. Now - and always.

It seemed almost too much to bear, this weight of decision. How could Ben have put this upon his shoulders? He stepped slowly through the shop, mind racing, as he made his way to the back of the house. It was outrageous. It was Ben who had planted this seed of doubt. Why could he not have just let him state his case and be done with it when all he had thought about these last few months, all that had consumed him was the decision he had ultimately landed on?

Because, his own mind reasoned as he headed upstairs. That is simply what Ben does. He makes you think.

His footsteps led him to his bedroom door, but it was there they stalled. He didn't want to go to bed, he was realizing; though weary of spirit, his mind was as sharp as ever and he was certain sleep would evade him tonight. The study, he decided, heading that way. It was a haven of sorts when he needed a quiet place to read, to focus, or simply to get away from Henri's tantrums as need arose. And perhaps most importantly, the study was his. Not literally of course, as everyone else in the house had just as much right to it as he - but it seemed no one else had yet discovered its sanctuary, as he had never once been disturbed while in there.

So consumed was he by his own thoughts, that he nearly missed the quiet sniffle that met his ears just as he was opening the door.

He paused, blinking rapidly to allow his eyes to adjust to the candlelight from within. He frowned, first thinking that Ben must have beat him up here; but then his eyes landed on a most feminine figure, standing by the window, her silhouette outlined by the light of the gas lamps outside. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was then his brain finally caught up to him, taking in the full sight of her: shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around herself, then a brief motion as she wiped at her own face - and sniffled again.

She was crying.

Oh.

It was Sarah and she was crying.

He stood dumbfounded for a moment, watching her backside. Though quick to express her opinion and often caught up within the swell of her own passions, Sarah was not one to readily - or outwardly - express emotion. Whether it was due to her upbringing or the fact that she was a "stiff Englishwoman," as she called it, Sarah often hovered just outside the reach of being...well, overtly feminine. Part of the reason he so enjoyed going toe to toe with her as often as he did was because she would dish it right back to him, giving as good as she got. It was probably one of many reasons why she hated him, but now here she was, and here he was, watching her cry. Like a person. Like a...girl. He should leave her, he supposed. Respect her privacy and sneak away, pretending he'd never seen it.

But compassion gripped his heart as he watched her and true to his nature, he found it hard to ignore.

"Sarah?" he said quietly. She startled, but only just, turning to look at him with a quiet gasp.

"James," she said, breathlessly. "You scared me half to death."

"Sorry." He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, approaching her slowly. "I just was, ehm - walking by. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh it's fine really." She made another hasty swipe at her eyes as he stepped fully into the light, noting her red eyes and still-wet cheeks. "I was just leaving anyway."

"Wait." It was a stupid thing to say, as she hadn't moved yet, but he pressed forward anyway. "Are you alright?" Her eyes met his, heavy with some unknown sorrow.

"Yes," she whispered but it was so obvious that it was a lie, she offered a small chuckle and cast her gaze to the floor. "I mean...I will be. I'm fine, really. I'm just being stupid."

"I doubt it's stupid if it's upset you, of all people." He watched her carefully as she huffed, clearing her throat softly. "What troubles you?"

"It's not important." There it was again - that wall she always put up to protect her pride. It felt like a challenge so he pushed, noting that she still had made no move to leave.

"It's important to me if it's important to you. And besides..." He leaned back against the desk, bracing himself on his arms with a light shrug. "It would help me get my mind off my own troubles this night, if I were able to offer you some modicum of comfort."

"Troubles of your own?" She eyed him quizzically, one eyebrow raising slightly. "What sort of troubles?"

James grinned. "You first." She hesitated, inhaling sharply as their eyes met again. He offered another shrug. "I've got all night, Phillips."

"I told you not to call me that," she muttered but the ghost of a smile was on her lips. Her expression sobered as she raised her hand, which was clutching a piece of paper he hadn't noticed before. "I received a letter from my father today."

"Oh?" His heart plummeted as she said it. Was he finally coming to take her away? The thought struck him like a ton of bricks, even as he privately chastised himself for the reaction. If it was good news she wouldn't be crying, you dolt. "What did it say?"

"Well, that's just the trouble." She held the letter out toward him, smiling sadly. "Read it and see." He took it carefully, stunned that she was letting him read a most precious correspondence from her father. Or so he thought, at least, until his eyes scanned the page.

August 4, 1775

Dearest Sarah,

I miss you so! Much happening in my neck of the woods. I will write again soon.

Your Loving Father

"That's it?" he blurted. He looked over the page at her, instantly regretting his choice of words as her eyes welled again. "I mean - well. This is rather...prompt."

"It is." Pain fell over her features as she pressed a hand to her stomach, steadying herself. "I haven't..." She paused, clearly fighting tears again. "I haven't heard from him in almost a year. And this is...this is all he sends. That letter is dated over four months ago. I do not..." She shook her head, looking away. Silence fell for a few beats as he watched her, and she watched the wall. When she spoke again her voice was strained. "I do not understand why he has not come for me."

"Sarah...I'm so sorry." What to say? What could possibly bring comfort in the face of such obvious disregard? He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. "You told me your father was serving in the military, yes? Perhaps he is just -"

"He is not actively serving anymore." Her arms crossed over her chest, and something about the gesture made her look small. She turned her head toward him and offered a watery smile. "For all intents and purposes, he is retired."

"Oh." What he really wanted to say was something along the lines of, your father is a bastard, but he was sure she wouldn't appreciate that. Each day since she had arrived here had been eagerly spent waiting on her father; he'd seen the way her eyes would light up when a letter arrived bearing his name, hell, she'd even been staking out land that she and her parents could settle on when they'd gone to find Ethan Allen. He cleared his throat and stared at the words on the page again, becoming increasingly more incensed at how empty they seemed. She raised an excellent point - she'd been here for two years now. At what point exactly was her father coming for her? "Then perhaps something more pressing is occupying his time," he found himself saying. Their eyes locked as he offered a smile. "Perhaps this letter is so short, because he is caught up in the throes of some great adventure but he still wanted to take the time to write you." She nodded, laughing sadly again.

"Yes...perhaps." She ran a hand across her nose. "Or perhaps he does not mean to come for me at all."

"Nonsense. Of course he will come for you." She didn't react - she just stood there, staring at him without expression. "Sarah, he will come for you. I know it."

"When?" Her shoulders raised in a helpless shrug. "What keeps him?"

"That, I do not know. But what I do know..." He approached her slowly, tapping his fingers lightly upon the page. "Is that any man who has managed to raise a young woman with such spirit, such passion, surely must have done many a thing right. And I would dare to say..." He held the paper out to her, which she took slowly. "Is a man who would keep his word." She smiled sadly, her eyes moving briefly to the letter before meeting his gaze again.

"You are right, of course. Shockingly." His lips curved into a smile as a long sigh slipped through her nose. "It is only that I...I miss him so much. I never imagined when I came here that it would be years until I saw him again."

"Nor did I." His voice lowered with remembrance as his mind recalled the frenzied circumstances of their first meeting. He offered her a genuine smile. "But there is a part of me that is grateful we have had the opportunity to get to know you better with this additional time. If only that I may further vex you, that is." It was then she laughed - she laughed - and the sound of it was like music to his ears.

"A duty you take to heart, apparently." She shook her head, tsking under her breath. "James, James - what would I do without you, hm?"

"Die from boredom, I can only presume." She chuckled as the first flash of her familiar fire shone in her eyes.

"As if you are the sole object of my entertainment?"

"I would say so," he shrugged. Her lips curled into a half smile.

"Oh do go on. I'm curious now."

Well, let's see." He began counting out on his fingers as he spoke. "This year alone, you rode on horseback through the night to report on the impending British attack at Lexington and Concord..."

"A journey you can scarcely take credit for."

"You bore witness to the Battle at Bunker Hill..."

"An atrocious day."

"You helped me deliver that mail." The playful tone of the conversation seemed to shift toward something more serious as her eyes softened. "Successfully, I might add."

"That whole ordeal is not what I would call entertaining," she said softly. A pause. "But it is nice that you are finally giving me some credit."

"Yes, well." He shrugged. "The point is, you and I have seen some...interesting things, to say the least. So." He grinned. "You're welcome."

She snorted, then clamped a hand over her mouth, which made him laugh. "I cannot believe," she chuckled, "that you are taking credit for all of that."

"I am merely pointing out that if I was not here, you wouldn't be having half as much fun. Moses and Ben would never have let you do any of this on your own. So..." He pointed toward the letter in her hands. "Though I know you miss your father, think of all you have done while waiting for him. Some might say the trade off is well worth it."

"I can hardly believe I am saying this," she said slowly. "But James...you may be right."

"I'm rarely ever anything else." Their eyes met again and the sight of a smile lighting up her face sent a bizarre thrill through his body. She laughed again, shaking her head at him.

"Well. Kind as you've been, I'll let you have that one tonight."

"How generous of you, Ms. Phillips." He cocked an eyebrow, nodding his head toward her hands. "Don't worry about your father, Sarah. The course of this war has changed...everything." The pit returned to his stomach but he smiled again at her. "For all of us."

"Right you are." She eyed him steadily for a moment, as if she were reading his thoughts. "Now what of these troubles of your own that you spoke of?"

"Ah, nothing really. Just a tiff with Ben." He kept her gaze lest she pick up on his deception. Although it wasn't really a lie. "It's all well and over now."

"Goodness. What was it about?" Tell her, his mind beckoned, but the mere thought of it made his heart cramp. It would do her no good, nor he. He swallowed and cast his gaze to the window, eyeing the familiar city landscape.

"The future of the shop. My future." He could see her eyeing him curiously in his periphery.

"That's rather vague, Mr. Hiller." He smirked, but a few beats passed in silence before she spoke again. "I don't mean to pry, James -"

"But you're going to anyway." He moved his gaze back to her, raising an eyebrow. She sighed.

"...but you offered me kindness tonight by listening to me," she said, "and I should like to do the same."

"It's not..." He rubbed the back of his neck again, trying to find the words, already resenting how the tone of conversation was shifting. "It's nothing, Sarah."

"I doubt it's nothing," she replied quickly, "if it's bothering you." He couldn't help but laugh at the play on his own words, repeated back to him. She smiled as she slowly shook her head at him, and it was then he realized whether it be now or later, he was going to have to tell her. He spoke before he could talk himself out of it.

"I wish to enlist in the Continental Army."

Silence fell and it felt suddenly as if a shadow had passed over the room. She stared at him for a few seconds, the smile slowly fading from her face. "Are you..." She pressed a hand to her chest. "Are you teasing me?"

"No." She blinked as he cleared his throat. "No, I am in earnest."

"James you cannot possibly be. You cannot -"

"Why not?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "You've seen the soldiers. Many of them are scarcely older than I."

"That's exactly it, James. I have seen many of those soldiers. I've seen many of them die."

"Yes, well." He hated how she was looking at him now, as if he'd grown a tail and horns. "That's rather the risk you take when you join up."

"What about your contract?" She closed the gap between them, shaking her head slowly. "What of your duty to Dr. Franklin?"

"Well now you know what our tiff was about." She gasped quietly. All at once he was anxious, desperate for her to understand. "Sarah, you are as aware of what is happening as I am. How could I possibly sit on the sidelines while a war for this country - my country - wages outside our door? It would be cowardly at best and hypocrisy at worst. I am sixteen years old. I am old enough to fight." His impassioned speech did little to wipe the fear from her eyes and it was irritatingly disappointing to see.

"James," she said calmly, setting her letter down on the desk. "James, you cannot do this."

"I assure you," he said, more gruffly than he meant it. "I can." She turned toward him, her eyes dark and dancing in the candlelight.

"I am serious, James."

"So am I." The silence that fell between them seemed to hold a challenge within it, but he decided to swallow his pride, softening his voice when he spoke again. "May I ask why you are...so opposed to this?"

"Because it's dangerous," she said. But there was something in the way she cast her gaze aside, in the way her arms folded protectively over her body, that indicated she wasn't quite speaking the full truth.

"That is hardly a reason, Sarah." He kept his voice level lest she think he was angry at her; truth be told, he was angry at himself for this damned uncertainty in his chest. "General Washington needs soldiers."

"Yes," she murmured. "Soldiers. Not print shop apprentices."

"Well," he scoffed, "that was a bit cruel, don't you think?"

"No." She leveled him with a firm gaze. "Not when it is your life that's on the line."

"You aren't thinking of this like I am. What is happening now is bigger than all of us -"

"A fact of which I am keenly aware." She stepped closer. "Or have you forgotten about my Cousin Tom?"

"Of course I haven't."

"And Dr. Warren?"

He paused, heart sinking. "I will never forget Dr. Warren."

"Then how could you possibly be entertaining this?" she cried out softly. "James, please -"

"Sarah," he said gently. "Sarah, how could I not?"

"Because you cannot win, James." Silence fell again as she studied his face, her eyes blown wide with conviction. "The Colonies cannot win." Something in his heart wrenched.

"You don't know that," he whispered.

"Yes I do. And you know what else I know?" She inhaled sharply through her nose, as if to steady herself. "Once this is all over, anyone who is found to have served in the Continental Army will be hanged. Like a criminal."

"Alright, stop it now -"

"I am being serious. I beg of you to hear me." She grabbed onto his arm then and it was enough to still him into silence. "Are you familiar with the Forty-Five Rebellion?"

"The..." He shook his head, frowning at her. "In Scotland?"

"Yes. In 1745. When a league of Highlanders rallied in support of Charles Stuart in the hope that he could regain the British throne for his father, James Stuart. In open rebellion against King George II - our current King's father." James snorted at the mention of our king, but she ignored him. "Their army was wiped out at the Battle of Culloden the following year. Those who survived were executed. Those who escaped were hunted like dogs." She leaned in close, fear etched into her features. "It was a rebellion that scarcely lasted a year, James."

"That isn't going to happen to us." He pulled from her touch, insulted by the insinuation. "We aren't fighting to depose a King. We are fighting for our freedom, Sarah. From tyranny."

"You are fighting against the same British army," she snapped back. "The largest, and most powerful fighting force in the entire world."

"That doesn't mean we will meet the same fate as those who died at Culloden."

"Oh you're right," she laughed darkly. "The fate of those fighting now will be far worse, I'm sure." A familiar irritation wormed its way back into his frame.

"So you would ask me to abandon my convictions and remain in safety while there are countless others putting their very lives on the line?" he demanded, staring at her intently. "Some of whom have already died on the field of battle?"

"Yes." Her honesty stunned him as she placed her hands on her hips. "And I suspect Dr. Franklin agrees with me, or else you would not have had the tiff you mentioned."

Oh, damn her. He could feel a heat rising in his cheeks, could sense that cold pulse of dread draping over his senses. He hated the fact that she was right. "I do not understand," he bit out, "how you could so easily ask me to disregard this duty."

"Because I know you know better." Her lips turned downward and it looked as if she were fighting tears again. "And because I do not want you to die, James."

Why? he wanted to ask. But it would be a stupid question because he already knew why. The last two years had been a whirlwind of countless forays into the unknown, and it had been Sarah by his side for nearly all of them, braving gunfire and threat of life just as much as he. Such things were bound to join two people together in some bizarre version of camaraderie - even friendship. Not even fifteen minutes earlier his stomach had twisted at the thought of her leaving with her father, and now she was the one desperately trying to get him to stay. It wasn't fair.

But it also was, somehow.

"What would you have me do, Sarah?" he asked quietly. Their eyes met again and he shrugged, once more feeling the pull of indecision in his chest. "What would you have me do?"

"Persist," she said earnestly. "In what you are doing now. Continue to hone your skill, and learn your craft, just as you promised Dr. Franklin. Continue to write about what is happening here. Stay safe. And give it time."

He frowned. "Give it time?"

"Wait and see how quickly this whole ordeal lasts." She raised a hand with two fingers up. "And give it two years. If in two years' time a war still rages on - and the colonies have not been swiftly defeated - you then revisit your desire to enlist. And see if you still feel as passionate about it as you do now."

"Sarah." He shook his head no. "Sarah, I cannot wait that long. Ben has asked me to give him my final decision by tomorrow morning." She inhaled softly.

"That soon?" He hated the apprehension in her face, how distraught she sounded. He jerked out a nod, fixing his gaze on the floor.

"Aye."

"So is that it, then?" When he looked at her again she shrugged, mouth pulling into an unhappy line. "You've made up your mind? You'll speak with Dr. Franklin tomorrow and be off to the frontlines by new year?"

"No. I mean.." He huffed, waving his hands around. "Sarah, I don't know. I'm so...confused now." Something in her eyes changed.

"Does Moses know?"

"No." He shook his head, exhaling through his teeth. "No, it's just you and Ben now."

"Well." She ran a nervous hand up her arm, casting her gaze to the window. "I wish you had told me that you were considering this."

"I just did."

"I meant...sooner." She met his gaze and held it. "I wish you had told me sooner, James."

"Well I don't." Hurt filled her eyes and he set his jaw, hating how that had come across. "I mean only that I - I had to make this decision on my own. With no undue influence. Now my mind is...more muddled than ever."

"Just think about waiting," she said softly. "That is all I ask." He stayed silent for a few, long seconds. It felt altogether too quiet in the study, and he found he wasn't entirely sure how to respond when she wasn't yelling at him.

Then he looked at her.

Within her gaze he found something he could not identify. Fear, maybe. Concern. Some distant part of his mind wondered if she really did hate him after all. Right now, in this moment, there seemed a strange sort of intimacy between them that he'd never shared with anyone else. Confessions of the soul did that, he reckoned.

It was why he realized he didn't want to lie to her.

"I cannot promise you that, Sarah." He shook his head slowly as her face fell. "I must follow what lies in my heart."

"Perhaps you do." She sounded resigned, wiping briskly at her eyes before grabbing her letter off of the desk. She made to leave the room, but stopped right beside him, her eyes boring daggers into the side of his skull. "But if you should go and die in battle, James Hiller, I will never forgive you." And then she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts in the quiet of what used to be his sanctuary. His eyes slipped shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose, a swarm of confusion once more clouding his mind. He had meant what he said; he had to follow the truth of his heart.

But now, it seemed, he knew not what that truth actually was.

The next morning dawned bright with a cold winter's sun. Sarah dressed quickly in order to make her way downstairs, eager for the warmth of the fire in the kitchen. Her heart was a muddied mess, but she set to work making porridge, setting the table for breakfast. Her hands longed for something to do, if only to still this weary dread still planted so firmly inside her chest.

First her father's disregard, then James' insistence on enlisting in the army. What a dreadful night last night had turned out to be.

She busied herself with the day's tasks and made herself scarce when James awoke. She wasn't ready to face it - not yet. But fate had a way of deciding otherwise, it seemed, as Moses had errands to run in the city and asked her to help James set the type while he was out. Having no true reason to refuse, she now stood silent at his side as they worked together in an empty shop. She tried to imagine what it would be like without him here and it made her feel sick.

Still - her heart dropped clear down to her shoes when Dr. Franklin came into the shop, his eyes glittering with mirth as always. "Good morning Sarah, James," he said. He eyed them both before turning his gaze fully toward his apprentice. "James, might I see you in my laboratory for a moment?"

"No need, Dr. Franklin." James motioned his head toward her. "She knows." Something alighted in the man's gaze that she could not quite identify.

"Ah. Well then." He removed his bifocals and wiped them on the front of his shirt. "Have you reached a decision, then?" She swallowed and wiped her hands on her apron, turning away towards the window to grab more tiles. She wasn't ready for this, dammit. Not yet.

"I have," James said from behind her. "Such decisions should not...be made in haste." She stilled, looking over her shoulder at him only to find he was already watching her. He carefully slid his gaze back to his employer. "I have decided to wait, Dr. Franklin. For at least two years."

Someone must have stolen the breath from her lungs, for how suddenly she forgot how to breathe.

"Ah. Well." Ben smiled and there was something knowing, almost amused, in the expression. "Right you are, James. I trust your judgments well - if you are certain?"

James nodded. "I am certain."

"Then that is where we shall leave it." His eyes moved to her then. "A true friend is the best possession. Wouldn't you agree, dear Sarah?" He knew. She had no idea how he knew - but he knew. She couldn't fight the smile from pulling at her own lips.

"Indeed, Dr. Franklin." He chuckled. And then he walked out of the room, into his lab, leaving the two of them momentarily alone together. Heart and mind racing, she turned to James with a question half-formed on her lips - but he beat her to it.

"Don't get smart," he said, pointing at her with a raise of his eyebrow. "On occasion, you offer sound counsel. I'll not deny that."

"Only on occasion?" Her relief felt near to overwhelming, swathing her in the security of his safety - at least for now. He looked at her and she was struck by that same, wild fire in the blue of his eyes. She swallowed down a lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. "What made you change your mind?"

"Nothing, really. Just..." He shrugged, wiping his wrist across his forehead. "I thought it would be a shame to leave just as soon as we'd started to get along." That wasn't it, she knew; when he dodged a response like that, it was because there was something he didn't wish to share. But she found she didn't care about that now. He was staying. He'd be safe. So she laughed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Right. Well." She nodded slowly, gesturing around her. "Don't get used to it. I still think you're a persnickety rebel."

"And I still think you're a bleedin' Tory," he shot back, but there was no malice in his voice. She snorted.

"Obstinate colonist."

"Pretentious rich girl." He looked at her, eyes glowing, and smiled at her - really smiled at her - and the sight of it sent a blush creeping up her neck until she was certain her skin was as red as her hair. But James didn't say anything - he just shook his head and motioned back towards the press. "Right. Back to work." She moved beside him and resumed working, heart thrumming with relief in her chest.

God willing, this war would be over in a few month's time and she'd never have to worry about this again.

Before anyone asks...yes, I've been watching Outlander. Yes, I had to slip some of the history in here. The ones who know, know.

I'm keenly aware that the purpose of this show was to teach kids history - not delve into the characters' development - but it never made sense to me that James wouldn't have had at least some desire to join the army given how passionate he was about the cause. It's only ever mentioned in the episode with Sybil Ludington (and she'll be making an appearance here later, hehehe), which I find interesting. Many of the men who joined at the outset were between 15-30 years old and I'm sure ya'll know how teenaged boys can be when it comes to this sh*t. Barring colonial militia laws and the potential for historical inaccuracy, this is my poor attempt to offer some means of explanation.

Next chapter is coming sooner than this one. Promise. :)