Here's the next one. Only one more week left in Ireland and I'll be back home, so I should update other things once back. For now, here's this and the one after this is nearly done as well.
"Burn. Burn with me."
No… No, please. Not again. I-I don't want to die again!
"Burn the witch! Burn her!"
I'm not a witch! Please!
Sweat dripped down the back of my neck as I twisted under the sheets, gripping tightly to them as strangled sounds escaped my lips.
"You're new here, aren't you?" A young man asked, looking not much older than 18, which was far too normal in this time.
"I was transferred," I muttered, eyes cold as I chewed on a rock-hard piece of bread from the morning meals.
"Oh, from where? I just came in from London myself."
"Luxembourg…"
The boy paled a bit. "But that's… that was the front lines. That was where Germany…"
I glanced at him briefly, saying nothing of the war I'd already witnessed as the gunshots around us echoed in my ears and dredged up memories of blood, death, and gargled screams.
He was quiet for a moment, before attempting to regain his previous carefree smile. "W-Well, at least there's less of a chance of that happening here, right? I mean, it's not too bad here."
"You'll jinx it," I muttered, startling him.
"What?"
I got up and brushed off my pants, grabbing my rifle and staring down at him once more. "You shouldn't let your naivety rule your head or it'll get you killed. War is war. Nowhere is safe."
The covers felt stifling, suffocating, and they were soon thrown to the ground as one of my hands reached up and clawed down my arm. Red welts appeared and soon started to swell with blood as the scratching continued along with the nightmares.
"Stevan! Stevan, where are you!" I bellowed, ducking as an artillery shell flew by overhead.
Every sound was amplified in my ears as I strained to hear that familiar voice.
"This wasn't meant to happen. None of this was meant to happen. Not to him. I was going to protect him. I swore I would—"
I was thrown to the side as a grenade blew nearby, sending heat and pain rippling through me. I coughed and choked on dirt and ash in the air, pushing myself up and letting out a cry of agony when I faltered. My eyes went wide and sound was suddenly muted as I realized why. My arm… W-Where…Bile rose in my throat at the sight of what was left of my arm and it took a moment to gather myself in my shock. I tore my belt off, using it as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding as I focused my mind on a goal. Stevan… I-I need to find…
I trekked through the field, stepping over corpses and tripping on the rough terrain until I fell once more, struggling to rise. I heaved myself back up just barely only to collapse again as someone hooked their arm around me and helped. I was having trouble focusing with the blood loss, but the voice brought me a sense of welcome relief.
"Hang in there, Terrance. W-We just need to get to the trench. We'll make it. We promised, didn't we?" He still managed to offer me a wobbling smile and I went to reply only for the inevitable.
Blood splattered over my face as the bullet tore through his head. We both fell to the ground and I heaved myself over to him, grabbing him desperately and clinging to his uniform, begging for him to say something.
"Stevan. S-S-Stevan, please. Please, say something."
But his eyes were glazed over, what little of his face pale and lifeless. He was dead and gone but my mind couldn't comprehend it, couldn't understand it. He was only a kid. Just a child dragged into this war because they needed soldiers. They needed bodies to throw out here as sacrifices to hold people off until a better plan was made.
"P-Please. Please, you're just… y-you're just a kid. I… It should've been me… Why couldn't it have been me? Why—"
A shot was fired and a split second of pain jolted me out of bed.
I sat up, sucking in a gasping breath, trembling and clinging to my arm as I fought to ground myself. The air was clear of gunpowder and the coppery scent of blood but I could practically taste it anyway. I could still feel the fabric of Stevan's uniform in my grip and the dirt under my fingernails. Blood was slipping through my fingers and his lifeless eyes were burned into my mind. I felt sick and pulled myself out of bed, moving quickly to the water basin and splashing water on my face.
I leaned over it, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath before I felt a little calmer and opened my eyes only to wince. I reached over and tugged at my sleeve, pulling it up to see it spotted with blood. I cursed under my breath and moved to a mirror, lifting my sleeve to see the angry red scratches that lined my bicep slowly oozing blood. I have nothing here to bandage it either. I wonder if I can grab Martha for a moment… I'd rather avoid the nurse if at all possible.
I sighed, moving back into the office where my bed was also set aside. I glanced outside the large window behind my desk as I gathered a clean set of clothes. Young boys walked around the grounds on their way to their first lessons of the day and a motor car rolled up the drive. I pulled my eyes away from the scene, moving to dress, pulling on my trousers, and buttoning up the white shirt to cover the wrappings binding my chest. Tedious, but this isn't the first time I've done this. I added my waistcoat and tie, adjusted them, and picked up the round spectacles on my desk. There was a rap on the door and I pulled a hand through my hair as I spoke.
"Come in."
The door opened and Martha poked her head in, lifting up the morning paper.
"I brought your paper."
"Thanks," I muttered, waving her in. "Close the door, if you would. I need to borrow your medical expertise."
She frowned, setting the paper on the desk. "What did you do?"
"Nothing bad, but I can't have it getting blood on my shirt," I said, lifting up my sleeve and making her wince.
"What did you do? These look like scratches."
"Nightmare," I explained, not elaborating at all on that front. "I used my washing rag to clean it up, but I'm out of medical supplies and would rather avoid Nurse Redfern."
She rolled her eyes, digging into the folds of her maid outfit. "You're lucky I carry some of the basics on me. Sit."
I sat down and unfolded the newspaper she brought with my free hand as she tended to my arm. "Any news on the Doctor?"
"He had more of those dreams again," she sighed. "I wish this whole mess was over with already. I miss the actual Doctor, you know?"
I hummed, skimming the news and frowning slightly at the mention of politics surrounding the upcoming war. I put the paper down and rubbed my eyes under my glasses, earning a look from Martha as she finished up.
"Not sleeping well?"
"Not at all, if I'm lucky," I grumbled, glancing at her. "How much longer do we have? A week? A month?"
"I don't know. I kind of lost track. When are your lessons?"
I glanced at the clock ticking in the corner of the room. "Quarter past. I better get going."
I got up and started to gather my books, pulling on my coat and wrinkling my nose at the hat I had to wear. Martha cracked a small smile at that, opening the door.
"Not a fan?"
"No. Teaching is one thing, but having to wear this?" I waved the hat with a scoff. "I'd rather eat pears."
"What is it with pears?" Martha questioned as we started walking down the hall. "The Doctor complained about them too."
"Canned pears are all right but fresh ones are terrible. Now, mangoes on the other hand—"
"Ah! There you are."
We both turned to see the Doctor—now turned John Smith—hurrying toward us.
"They've had to change your classroom, Mr. McCarthy. A boy had a spill."
"Course he did," I sighed, knowing that it was yet another excuse the boys had come up with in order to avoid my lesson. "Feel free to call me Lawrence, Mr. Smith. There is no need to be formal with colleagues."
He cracked a small smile. "Then, I must insist you call me John." He spotted Martha then. "Martha, aren't you supposed to be working? They might need you to help with that spill."
Martha resisted the urge to say something smart back, I noticed, and muttered an apology before leaving. I felt bad for her having ended up here, given that 1913 wasn't exactly the best year for women or those of color. She got the short end of the stick and I just lucked out with my experience in disguising myself as male. Not that my experience would've changed how the Doctor saw me when he lost his memories. The Tardis must've had a part in it. I'll have to thank her later. I really didn't want to end up a servant again. I ran a hand through my hair with a small frown. Though I was growing this out until now. Shame I had to cut it again, and I could do without having to fake my facial hair every so often. I rubbed at my jaw which was shaded to appear like 5'oclock shadow currently, though I'd gone as far as using my hair trimmings to create false facial hair occasionally.
"Here we are," John hummed, stopping us in front of a spare classroom. "You can use this room until the spill is cleaned. I suspect you'll have it back by lunch. Do you have afternoon lessons?"
"Just office hours," I replied, stepping in and getting my books set up on the desk, though I hardly needed them for what I was teaching. "For today, anyway. You know the boys. Just the thought of more maths has them creating more spills in my classrooms."
He nodded, glancing down the hall as some boys started to begrudgingly filter in. "I'll see you at lunch then?"
I grunted in confirmation and he nodded and walked out as I turned to the chalkboard and began to write the beginnings of my lesson plan. More students walked in and chattering started up as I ignored them until the bell rang and they quickly went quiet. They knew how I worked at this point. The moment the bell rang, lessons began. No talking unless they were answering questions or I allowed it for group work. They called me strict at times but those who followed my rules and listened were doing well. Those who went to my office hours, even more so. It's a shame there aren't more of them. What I wouldn't give to be back in the Tardis after this mess…
Martha scrubbed at the floor with her companion, Jenny, not pleased with what she had been stuck doing for the last few months, but knowing there was only a bit longer before they'd be back traveling the stars. John himself strolled past, not really paying much attention and she paused to greet him.
"Morning, sir."
He paused at the base of the stairs, blinking in surprise but soon nodded. "Yes, hi."
"Head in the clouds, that one. Don't know why you're so sweet on him," Jenny mused once he'd gone and Martha shrugged, going back to scrubbing.
"He's just kind to me, that's all. Not everyone's that considerate, what with me being—"
"A Londoner," Jenny teased, knowing what she meant but never having such thoughts about Martha herself.
"Exactly," Martha beamed, grateful to have her as a friend in this place. "Good ol' London town."
They chuckled as two boys passed, only for them to stop.
"Now then, you two," one boy said, looking down on them as a lot of the senior boys did. "You're not paid to have fun, are you? Put a little backbone into it."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Jenny murmured as his friend gestured toward Martha.
"You there. What's your name again?"
"Martha, sir. Martha Jones."
"Tell me then, Jones. With hands like those, how can you tell when something's clean?" He mocked, the two laughing until they both yelped and whipped around.
Fallon stood there with a stern frown on her face, looking tired but holding the switch that had been used to hit the boys on the back of their thighs. Not hard enough to do much more than sting, but it certainly got their attention.
"If you have time to mock the help, then you'll have time for extra lessons with me in the evening," she scolded them, eyes snapping between the two. "Last warning for you both, understand?"
"Yes, sir," they muttered, rushing off to avoid punishment as Fallon scoffed.
"Brats," she grumbled, looking at Jenny and Martha. "Good day to you both."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Jenny said hastily, as Fallon walked past and she nudged Martha. "Did you see that? You'd do well to be sweet to him!"
Martha cracked a smile. "Yeah, well, I do a bit. He's sort of friends with Mr. Smith and me. I deliver his papers and some breakfast if he wants but don't you think he's a bit strict?"
"Those boys could do with a bit of that," Jenny mused. "Just think, though. In a few years' time, boys like that'll be running the country."
Martha's smile fell. "1913… they might not."
I grumbled curses and complaints under my breath, holding a stack of books in one arm and waving about another that had a bit of water damage.
"Blasted kids mucking about, hating maths, ruining my books."
They were a few of the casualties of the boy's "spill" from earlier and I was moving them up to my office in the hopes that laying them out near my window might dry them off better. Yet the moment I got a few steps up the stairs, there was something falling my way. My eyes went wide and I dropped the stack of books and grabbed the falling John, grimacing as I took his elbow to my gut and my foot slipped off the stairs. My back hit the ground as someone came rushing over and I groaned as John hastily pushed himself up.
"Lawrence! I am so—"
I peered an eye open to glare at him, glasses askew and his nose brushing mine before he jerked away and fumbled to get to his feet as the nurse hurried down the stairs for us.
"Oh, my lord. Mr. McCarthy! Are you quite all right?" Nurse Redfern asked, checking on John as well. "You as well, John? Any injuries?"
"I took a bit of a knock to the head," John said, a hand brushing his forehead where a lump was forming before he offered me a hand up. "Lawrence here took the brunt of it. Are you quite all right?"
"I'd certainly be better if you weren't so clumsy, John," I complained, wincing as I put my weight on my right leg—something Nurse Redfern spotted.
"You're hurt," she noted, grabbing my elbow and looking at John. "John, might you help me in assisting Mr. McCarthy to your office? I'll tend to you both there."
"Yes. Yes, of course. Let me just get a student to gather our things," he said, quickly grabbing someone to gather our books and papers to bring to his office before helping me along.
"I'm perfectly capable of walking without your assistance," I complained, more embarrassed than anything.
"Nonsense," Nurse Redfern declared. "Don't think I didn't see you favoring your leg, Mr. McCarthy."
"It's Lawrence," I huffed, earning a small smile from her.
"Lawrence, then."
Once in the office, I was seated and asked to remove my shoe and sock, lifting the leg of my trousers for her to examine my ankle that I'd rolled in the fall.
"It's certainly sprained. Let me know if this hurts at all."
"I just need to ice it," I complained with a wince, jerking my ankle away briefly. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"And I get boys causing less fuss than this."
I frowned as John chuckled before the door flew open and Martha stood there, out of breath.
"Is he alright?"
Oh, worried about the Doctor but not me, huh? I mentally scoffed, rolling my eyes as Joan stood up and scolded her.
"Excuse me, Martha. It's hardly good form to enter a master's study without knocking."
"Sorry. Right. Yeah," she said, moving back to the door and knocking on it. "But is he all right? They said you fell down the stairs, sir." She glanced at me then. "Ah, and you as well, Mr. McCarthy. Are you all right?"
"It was just a tumble, that's all," John said, waving at the small bump on his forehead. "I'd have been much worse off if Lawrence hadn't caught me."
"I didn't catch you," I complained as Joan wrapped my ankle. "You fell on me."
"Have you checked for a concussion? Broken bones?" Martha asked then, going over toward John and eyeing his forehead.
"I have. And I daresay I know a lot more about it than you," Joan countered and Martha pulled away.
"Sorry… I'll just tidy your things," she said to John who nodded before glancing at me.
"Have I told you about my dreams, Lawrence?"
I shot him a look as I began to tenderly replace my shoe. "Why tell me about the ongoings of your mind?"
He blinked innocently. "We're friends, are we not?"
"Colleagues," I corrected, not entirely trustful of him even now. Especially given I do not know whether he's still the Doctor or not. He could be entirely fictional or may even be a part of the Doctor that's been hidden until now. Will the Doctor even remember any of this?
"Come now, you're always like this," John complained lightly, giving Joan a smile. "Don't mind him. He always sounds bitter but he's actually quite caring."
"John!" I yelped, embarrassed as he and Joan chuckled.
"Well, since you're not interested I'll just have to tell Joan about them," he teased, making me huff in mild annoyance. "They are quite remarkable tales. I keep imagining that I'm someone else and that I'm hiding."
"Hiding in what way?" She asked, moving to tend to his forehead.
"They're almost every night. This is going to sound silly."
"You certainly lost your confidence rather quick," I scoffed, making him flush.
"It's silly!" He countered, but Joan pressed him for more, curious.
"Tell us."
"Well…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I dream, quite often, that I have two hearts."
"Well, then. I can be the judge of that. Let's find out."
Ah… does she like him? I wondered as she checked his heart—singular, apparently—and I moved to make some tea; limping slightly at the tenderness in my ankle.
"I have… I have written down some of these dreams in the form of fiction. Not that it would be of any interest," John said sheepishly, making me freeze momentarily.
"What's that you're writing?"
"My memoirs."
"Memoirs? They're fiction! None of this is possible. A woman who never dies? Who hides and sneaks around dressed as a man?"
The small book tucked into my inner coat pocket burned like fire against my chest.
"I don't know," I murmured, staring down at the cup of tea I'd made. "It might be interesting."
John perked up, getting up from his seat and moving to his desk. "I've never shown it to anyone before."
He brought out a worn book, whose pages were crinkled from being well-worn, and offered it. I hesitated, knowing how important something like that could be. My hesitation cost me though, as Joan took the book and started to flip through the pages. I turned my gaze away, sipping my tea instead and moving to look out the window at the grounds once more.
"Just look at these creatures," Joan remarked. "Such imagination."
"It's fantasy, not reality. Why call it your memoirs?"
I closed my eyes with a long breath. Because they're real. Every experience, every hope and joy and pain.
"I sometimes think how magical life would be if stories like this were true," John murmured.
"If only."
He chuckled, though it felt a bit sad to me. "It's just a dream."
"Yes, well…" Joan closed the book and returned it. "I best be on my way back. I'm sure some young boy will have scraped his knee soon."
John nodded, placing a hand on the book as she took her leave, turning to me. "Do you want a look, Lawrence? You're welcome to borrow it if you'd like."
Again, I hesitated, eyeing the book before giving him a cautious stare. "It's important, isn't it?"
He seemed surprised. "Oh, well, I suppose. I wouldn't write down my dreams otherwise."
"That's not…" I frowned slightly as he handed it to me, still not opening it. "It's… personal, is it not? I'm intruding, I feel, on something private."
"I… I never thought of it like that. I suppose it is a bit close to my heart but I trust you to care for it properly," he chirped happily. "We might argue but you truly are a friend to me, Lawrence."
A hint of guilt welled up in me and I muttered a quiet "thanks" before retreating back toward my office as quickly as my injured ankle allowed. Dammit. Why does this bother me so much? I've already told him that I'm not easily trusting. What is he trying to prove by doing this? I closed the door behind me and leaned heavily against it, tipping my head back with a groan as it hit the door.
"Why does everything have to go wrong? Every time. I can't trust him. I can't. Trusting people just—"
"Burn the witch!"
"Burn with me."
"This is your fault! You did this!"
"Another round. She's still delusional."
"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
I brought a hand to my mouth and sank to the ground, still holding his journal. God, why is this so hard?
"Ooh, it's freezing out here," Martha complained, bringing her shoulders up and shivering as she brought out drinks for herself and Jenny. "Why can't we have a drink inside the pub?"
"Now don't be ridiculous. You do get these notions! It's all very well, those Suffragettes. but that's London. That's miles away."
"But don't you just want to scream sometimes, having to bow and scrape and behave. Don't you just want to tell them?" Martha asked, knowing she herself had wanted to just strangle more than a few of the brats at the school.
"I don't know. Things must be different in your country."
"Yeah, well they are. Thank God I'm not staying."
Jenny eyed her. "You keep saying that."
"Just you wait. One more month and I'm as free as the wind. I wish you could come with me, Jenny. You'd love it."
"Where are you going to go?"
"Anywhere. Just look up there. Imagine you could go all the way out to the stars."
Jenny laughed as someone stumbled out of the pub behind them. "You don't half say mad things."
"That's where I'm going. Into the sky, all the way out."
Something flared bright green in the sky and Martha frowned.
"Did you see that?"
"See what?"
Martha stood up, worried. "Did you see it, though? Right up there, just for a second."
"Nothin' there," a drawling voice grumbled as Fallon stumbled over and sat down beside Martha, who wrinkled her nose.
"Fa—Mr. McCarthy? Are you drunk?"
Fallon pushed her pint across the table and planted her face on the cool wood, lifting a hand where her fingers were pinched slightly together. "Just a bit."
Martha groaned, reaching over and moving Fallon's head to get a better look at her flushed cheeks and unfocused gaze. "Just my luck," she complained under her breath, glancing back toward the bar. "Maybe Mr. Smith is in there and can help."
"Nah, don't need 'im," Fallon complained, pushing herself upright and taking another drink from her pint. "Damn moron, giving me his book an' actin' like we're friends."
"You are friends," Martha sighed.
"No!" Fallon blurted out, pointing at her with a stern frown. "No, we're not. We only just met."
"You've known each other for months, Mr. McCarthy. Now, hold on while I—" Martha was cut off though as Joan came running up the path looking pale with worry. "Matron, are you all right?"
"Did you see that? There was something in the woods. This light."
John stepped out of the pub then, looking between the group and their obviously flustered states. "Anything wrong, ladies?"
"Oh, here he goes," Fallon complained, nearly falling off the bench at the table when she leaned back.
"Lawrence? Blimey, you look terrible."
"He's drunk," Martha supplied. "I was just about to go get you when—"
"I don't need help," Fallon grumbled, finishing off her pint and scowling when it was gone. "Don't need it."
"Yes, well, it certainly looks like you might," John argued, heading toward her. "I'll gladly take him back to his room. Far too cold to be standing around in the dark—"
Joan pointed at something in the sky then. "There! There! Look in the sky."
The group watched a greenish light drift across the dark but only two of them were concerned about it.
"Oh, that's beautiful," Jenny remarked.
"All gone. Commonly known as a meteorite. It's just rocks falling to the ground, that's all," John mused, but Joan wasn't convinced.
"It came down in the woods."
"No, no, no. No, they always look close, when actually they're miles off. Nothing left but a cinder. Now, I should escort you back to the school. Ladies?" John offered, but Martha's gaze was on the forest, along with Fallon's.
"No, we're fine, thanks," Martha said and John nodded, heading toward Fallon and taking her elbow to help her up.
"Come on then, Lawrence. Best not stay here and bother anyone else."
"Bother?" Fallon snapped with a scowl. "Only bother here is you, ya daft, blabbering, space moron."
Martha rubbed at her brow, hoping Fallon wouldn't give them away while drunk.
"Now, Lawrence, no need for that. We'll get you back to the school. Get you some water, help you sober up a bit."
"I'm plenty sober," she argued, though very much unsteady on her feet. "You're the idiot. Didn't you see? They're here. They're coming."
"Who's here?" John questioned and Martha hastily hurried over.
"No one. Nothing. I'm sure he's just too drunk. Maybe he's seeing things."
Fallon frowned, turning to her with a stern finger poking her shoulder. "Seein' things? You saw it too. You should know they've found us."
Martha forced on a smile. "Oh, absolutely, Fa—Mr. McCarthy. So why don't you just go with John and I'll get it all sorted out."
Fallon turned her finger to John then. "This useless git? He'll just get us in trouble, he will. He'll… He'll…" Her brows furrowed in confusion as her thoughts derailed and John took that as his chance.
"I'll get him back. Sorry again, ladies. I'll do well to curb his drinking next time. Good evening."
They headed off then and Martha let out a sigh of relief before turning to Jenny.
"Jenny, where was that? On the horizon, where the light was headed."
"That's by Cooper's Field."
Martha nodded and took off, determined to find out whether Fallon's drunken warning was true or not. If she's right, then we're in trouble.
I woke up the next morning feeling absolutely terrible. It was early, thanks to the nightmares that had returned once the drunkenness wore off. Too early for classes, so I had time to spend vomiting over the toilet.
"Sick again, I see. Still trying to drink yourself to death?"
I groaned at the vague memory, resting my head against the rim of the bowl, and managed to eventually bring myself to my feet to make some tea. My head pounded and ached terribly. A hangover did not help me deal with the persistent migraine I had from lack of sleep. The last two months here were not treating me well, after all. Too many memories. Too many triggers and that last trip…
"Burn with me."
I hissed in pain, dropping the kettle that burned my hand and cursing as hot water spilled across the floor and my bare feet. I stepped away and scrambled around to find a rag to clean it with before taking in the damage. My hand shook—from the stinging of the burn on my palm or just from lack of sleep, I wasn't sure—and I moved away to the wash basin once more, grumbling complaints under my breath as I wiped cool water over my hand. My feet were better off, only slightly tinted red from the water that hadn't quite been fully boiled yet, but a blister was already forming on my palm.
I can't keep doing this… One more month? No… I remembered vaguely a flare of green across a darkened sky during my drunken haze from the night before. We may have been found. I need to talk to Martha. I sighed and went back to making my tea, wishing I had something stronger to wake me up but coffee wasn't as readily available here. Not that it'd help. I rubbed my eyes for a moment before taking my tea and moving to my desk. I winced at the sight of John's journal but reached out and ran my fingers over the cover. I still hadn't opened it and couldn't seem to gather the courage to. Much like my memoirs, these were important memories of the Doctor somehow leaking through John's subconscious. I didn't feel I deserved to look at them. More so after what I'd done on that ship.
"Burn with me."
I jerked my hand away from the journal, clenching it into a fist as that familiar burning tingle rolled through me. It's not real. It's not. Not anymore. It was something I hadn't mentioned to the Doctor as I knew what it was. It was my mind playing tricks on me as it did with my ear that I'd once lost or my arm. Phantom pain that lasted alongside the memories of things better left forgotten. Except it's hard to forget dying consistently while a telepathic sun used my body to kill people. A roll of unease filled me and I put my tea down, unable to stomach it for the moment. After all, I was the one who turned Ashton into another slave of the sun. I also could've saved Erina if I had been paying more attention. If I hadn't been so useless…
I got up and got dressed, adopting the fake glasses and ensuring that the stubble makeup on my face wasn't messed up too badly before stepping out to get some air. I knew I had better clear my head before classes started. I had a hard enough time concentrating without the lingering pain and memories being at the forefront of my mind. Not that it ended up helping once lessons came around. I let the boys off with minimal work to do given my headache had doubled and the chalk stung the burn on my palm. Martha won't be pleased I've gotten hurt again.
I sighed lightly and moved out onto the grounds once more, catching a whiff of smoke and feeling the old urge to have a cigarette rear its ugly head. It was only as I went around the back of the school that I found the source.
A Vickers machine gun was going off down below, being fired by the very young boys I was assigned to teach. Just the sound of it hitting the spear-holding scarecrow targets made my stomach churn and my heart catch in my throat.
"Stevan! Stevan, where are you!"
My hand reached up and grasped tightly at my other arm, nails digging into my sleeve as I stared out at the young boys practicing for the war that would take over the country in less than a year. The gunfire stopped as the headmaster walked up to talk with the group and someone stepped up beside me but I wasn't paying them any attention. My breath shuddered as I stared out over the field, hearing those age-old shouts echoing in my ears of downed men screaming and superiors bellowing orders that fell on deaf ears. The gunfire resumed and I could hear the whistling of bombs, the buzz of overhead fighter planes, the booms of grenades—
"—rence. Lawrence?"
A hand grabbed mine and I snapped my gaze around to Joan as she watched me in concern, holding tight to the hand that had been gripping my arm.
"Lawrence, is everything all right? You're bleeding."
Blood now dotted my sleeve from the scratches I'd done the previous night, reopened wounds caused by my tight grip on my arm. I couldn't quite focus though, still trying to ground myself to the moment now that the gunfire had stopped and John was heading over.
"Ah, Lawrence! Nurse Redfern," he chirped with a smile, but it quickly fell at the sight of us. "Is everything all right?"
"S-Sorry," I stuttered out, fighting to get my voice back and feeling the urge to run taking over. "I-I'll give your journal back next time I-I see you."
John blinked, confused. "No, no, no. You don't have to. Besides that, you're looking a bit pale. You sure you're—"
"S-Sorry. I-I need to go."
I took off back toward the school, not even realizing I was being followed until I'd made it back to my office and was struggling with unlocking it. I'd dropped the keys with a muttered curse but Joan had picked them up, turning my gaze to hers.
"Would you like to take a walk into town, Lawrence?" She offered softly and I felt some of that earlier panic fade a little at her empathetic gaze.
Slowly, I nodded and she handed me back my keys and nodded toward the stairs.
"After we treat your arm if you don't mind."
The man was riddled with injuries, Joan noticed after he'd been properly treated and they started their walk into town. The ankle from yesterday was still a bit swollen, no doubt because the man was too stubborn to care for it properly. However, there was also a burn on his palm. An accident with the kettle, he'd said and the scratches that had been dug into his arm told her a different story as well. She hadn't seen it at first. The man had just been a new teacher added to the group. One quiet and stern with the boys, yet secretly kind.
She'd caught him more than once educating some of the young boys, watching him break things down for them and give them worldly advice when needed. She'd seen him petting the horses in the stable fondly, muttering secrets to them as they silently listened. Then there was John. Despite their seemingly argumentative discussions, John continued to smile and no actual harsh words were meant between the two. If anything, that just made it more apparent how close they were. Or how close they could be if Lawrence fully opened up to him.
That was why she'd asked him out for a quiet walk. He was closed off, frightened of something that held him back from giving away any part of him, even to those he was close to. His earlier panic only solidified that, and she felt she understood better than most how to deal with his sort of fear. She'd seen it before, after all. That dead stare locked in terrible past memories, holding a soldier hostage in a war long over. She'd seen it years back in other young boys, hardened by the fighting they had to do, and… and she'd seen it in him too. Her husband.
"My husband, Oliver, he fought in the Battle of Spion Cop," she blurted out as they walked, seeing Lawrence glance at her out of the corner of his eye to show he was listening. "We were childhood sweethearts… He was shot and killed there and I was angry with the army for such a long time."
"You still are," Lawrence stated, more than asked, and she nodded.
"I find myself as part of that school watching boys learn how to kill."
Lawrence turned his gaze away and back down the road. "Discipline is good for them."
"Does it have to be such military discipline? I mean, if there's another war those boys won't find it so amusing."
Her words were harsh, making Lawrence wince ever so slightly but she knew he was watching his words again. She could see it too. How he hated having to watch those young boys learn how to shoot and kill.
"Sometimes having the knowledge to protect yourself means sacrificing others," he finally said, almost begrudgingly. "I'd rather they have some idea of what to do than no idea at all when war comes again."
"When, not if?" She said, catching him there as he pointedly looked away. "Did you read the book that John gave you? He showed me a bit of it before and he mentioned in one of the stories, he wrote about next year. Nineteen fourteen."
"He said they were dreams," Lawrence muttered, but she was unconvinced.
"All those images of mud and wire. He told of a shadow. A shadow falling across the entire world."
Lawrence's eyes got dark then, distanced as though focused on something else and Joan mentally berated herself for inadvertently triggering him with memories of war once more. She hesitantly reached out before grabbing his elbow, snapping him out of it, and drawing his attention back to her.
"Sorry. All I mean to say is that there should be a better way. They're just children and they shouldn't be involved in this."
"War is inevitable," Lawrence sighed softly, looking away once more but more sorrowful than anything.
It was an expression that was soft with pain and sadness. One Joan hadn't seen from him before but one she equally wished to never see again. It made him look old and tired. A man truly worn down from his memories and his past. They paused and he rubbed at his face with a muttered apology.
"Sorry. I don't mean to be upsetting," he murmured.
"No. I understand. It's almost too wistful to consider such things when war is so obviously on its way."
"It shouldn't have to be though, as you said but… sometimes poor choices must be made," Lawrence sighed, glancing out at the other people roaming around. "Sometimes the young must carry the burden made by those before them. John would say something about the boys potentially becoming heroes or some other hopeful thing like that but that's just how he is. Apologies for being a bit more pessimistic."
"You're just looking at the reality of things," Joan comforted him. "It's a sad truth, is all."
Lawrence shrugged, but his brows were furrowed as he kept his focus on something she couldn't quite see. A couple of men were lifting a piano, some young lad rode his bike and a woman had her baby out on a walk as well, rolling along a pram in front of her.
"Is everything alright?" She asked him, seeing the hint of concern in his expression.
It was how she knew he was a good man. He might argue otherwise but she knew he was because of how he acted. Even with John, he had caught the man falling down the stairs when he could have easily moved out from under him. However, kind though he was, she felt a little out of reach of him and couldn't always figure out what he might be thinking.
Suddenly, he jerked from her hold, startling her as he took off down the road.
"Lawrence?" She called after him in concern only to see him make a beeline toward the woman with the baby.
What happened next stunned her into disbelief as Lawrence ran up, grabbed the child out of the pram, and wrapped an arm around the shouting mother's waist to yank her back with him. A shout rang out the same instant and the once-hanging piano came falling down quickly, nearly crushing the workers after a frayed rope snapped, and completely obliterating the pram that had been under it.
A baby's cry rang out but Joan saw the child was safe thanks to Lawrence, who handed the child back to the hysterical mother. Said woman apologized and sobbed as she held her child close and grabbed him as well, thanking him profusely. Joan smiled softly at his sheepish responses and his stiff posture as the woman clung to him. When she'd finally released him, he let out a relieved sigh and returned to Joan with an apology already on his lips but she silenced him.
"Apologies are not needed when you perform such an extraordinary feat."
He flushed a little in embarrassment, tugging at an ear and glancing away. "I just saw the fraying rope and was concerned."
Still, the action had made her heart flutter, and knowing he would hardly take initiative, she hooked her arm through his once more as they started to return to the school.
"Mr. McCarthy?" She hummed. "Lawrence, there is a village dance this evening. Usually, the man would ask the woman to go, but if I may intrude on your time this evening would that be alright?"
He stiffened a bit, nearly stumbling at the suggestion and she hesitated.
"Unless, of course, you already have someone else in mind?"
"No. No, I… I don't but… I'm not really…" He floundered for words, uncertain.
"Can you not dance?"
"I can," he argued, looking slightly miffed she would think he couldn't but was quick to return to being sheepish. "I simply don't tend to attend… social gatherings."
"Well, I can't see why not when you're such a good conversationalist," she teased, getting a small pout from him and she leaned further into his arm. "Would you do it for me then? You can bring John as well if you want."
As expected, it didn't take much for him to give in once John was mentioned.
"…If I must."
