I watched as Morris paced the parlor, his uniform pressed and his hat in his hands. He glanced to the standing clock again, only three minutes after since the last time he had looked over. "You're certain she's coming?"

"Yes," I sighed, "Morris, sit. And she won't be able to be here for long, you know."

"I know, I know." He sat, his feet still dancing and he ran his hand through his hair. "I just, I want to see her, even if it's just for a few minutes."

"Well, it will be longer than that." I chuckled, "Maybe an hour."

"An hour?" Morris reached for the plate of cookies that had been left out, picking up a shortbread one. He took a bite, "This is quite good."

"It's a family recipe, from Will's side." I smiled, remembering making them in the kitchen with Mrs. Vangerten last night. She had told me she could manage if I told her the recipe, but I had told her I would always help with those.

I wanted to make sure I remembered everything, for when Will came back.

"Ma'am, Mrs. Reichster is here." Peggy poked her head into the parlor, a smile on her lips and an eyebrow raised.

I stood, moving in front of Morris who had leapt to his feet. "Thank you, Peggy, please send her in." She didn't move for a moment, a smirk on her lips as she glanced to Morris. "We will be alright, you're more than welcome to tell everyone they can have a break."

She left with a snort, and was quickly replaced by Sophie who barreled into the room. Adam was swiftly shoved into my arms as she hurled herself at Morris, pressing kisses to his cheek. "Oh, you're here, you're here!"

He held her close, running his hand through her hair. "Shhh, it's alright. It's alright, everything is fine. I'm here."

I moved back to my seat, looking down at Adam. His hair had grown longer, but it was still soft, and his blue eyes were bright and watched me with interest. "I think your mama is very happy."

Sophie whirled, a few tears on her cheeks. "Anastasia, thank you, thank you so much." And then it was my cheek being kissed, which I laughed off as she took her son back. "You have no idea what it means to me to be able to see him again."

"I think I might," I chuckled, watching as Adam finally noticed the other person in the room. "When Will gets home you probably won't see me for several weeks."

"Is this your son?" Morris leaned over, dangling a finger above Adam's face. "He's a big boy."

"Yes, this is Adam" Sophie rocked him slightly, although Adam seemed fixated on Morris's finger. She smiled, "I think he likes you."

"May I?" Morris held out his arms, and she settled Adam into them. He lifted Adam up, a wide smile on his face as Adam squealed.

Sophie almost started forward, "Be careful!"

"Don't worry, I did this with my cousins all the time." He swiftly pulled Adam down, blowing a raspberry against his stomach. Adam squealed with laughter, and Morris was laughing himself as he blew another one. Even Sophie started smiling, and I couldn't help myself either.

I could so easily see Will doing that, myself as the concerned mother and our child laughing as they were tickled and passed back and forth. The corners of my smile trembled, and I had to turn away so Sophie and Morris didn't see me have to take a few calming breaths. I wanted that, I wanted that so badly. I wanted a child, my husband home and safe, and both of us playing with our baby. I wanted it so badly that I ached, and to hear the two of them softly talking as Adam was rocked in Morris's arms made me want to run from the room because it wasn't Will holding my baby.

And it might never be.

If Will never came home, I would never have his baby, he would never hold them and blow raspberries against their stomach. I knew Will would do that, that he would play and care for our children, he would rock them to sleep and stay up with them when they were sick, but if he never came home, I would never be able to see him like that. I wouldn't be in his arms like Sophie was now, with Morris holding her close as she rocked Adam in her arms. It was so peaceful it was like a painting, a perfect scene of a mother and father adoring their child.

Of course, you wouldn't be able to tell it was an adulterous wife and her lover with her trueborn son just from a painting.

"Mrs. Murdoch?" Morris's voice was soft, "Is everything alright?"

I dabbed at my eyes with a napkin, "Yes, yes. I'm just so glad I was able to get you two back together." I turned, pasting a smile on my face. "Now, no sneaking off, at least this time."

Morris blushed, nodding to me. "Of course not, Mrs. Murdoch. It is your home after all."

"Lieutenant Greenwood, I'm not stupid." I shook my head, smiling. "I know how much it can mean to two people to have time alone, especially when they've been apart; however, someone is expecting her back soon."

Sophie bit her lip, "We have a party tonight."

"It sounds more fun than my night, going over papers and maybe having a drink at the officer's club." Morris chuckled, reaching over to brush his fingers over her cheek. "I'll have to buy the papers tomorrow and see if they write anything about you."

"I'd much rather spend the night with you, even if it's just organizing papers." Sophie caught his hand, kissing his fingers. "So long as you wouldn't mind Adam being with me."

"Not in the slightest!" Morris chucked the baby under his chin, making him giggle. "He's wonderfully well behaved, and my sister would lose her mind if I wrote her that I was taking care of a baby. It would certainly make next Christmas more interesting."

I rolled my eyes, watching as the two of them settled down on the settee, Adam passed between them as they talked quietly about everything and nothing. I found I couldn't watch them too closely, with Will on my mind the tears were never far and I didn't want anything to spoil the moment for them.

Will stood on the bridge, watching the black bulk of the cargo ship chugging along just off their starboard bow. The ladies of Edinburgh had formed a relief society, spending the last few months raising money, purchasing medicine, knitting socks, rolling bandages, and doing everything they could to support their boys on the front.

A cargo ship had been chartered to carry all of it to France, and the Peterel had been offered as an escort to ensure the safe arrival of the much-needed supplies. When Bligh had given the orders for how the escort was to proceed, Will had literally bitten his tongue to keep from speaking up. His education in naval matters may have been limited to what he had gleaned from the other officers and the books Ana had given him, but even he knew that a fast destroyer like the Peterelshould be ahead of the slower cargo ship, where they would have a better field of vision to spot any potential submarine. Bligh had confined them to the port side of the cargo ship, trundling along at amidships which meant that their engines were currently at half speed.

If that wasn't enough, Bligh and the other senior officers had celebrated a birthday among themselves the night before, using up the tots of rum that had been saved from prohibiting Will from drinking to get roaring drunk. Now Will was having to supervise almost every watch while the senior staff slept off their hangovers. But the other juniors looked to him like he was their captain, and addressed him by his proper rank on the bridge.

If Will hadn't been worried about Bligh reappearing he would have donned his proper uniform.

Still, it was a fine morning though. Clear, a slight chill to the breeze that swept through the bridge and a bit chop to the sea that sent mist and foam over the bridge windows when they crested a wave. A few other junior officers were on the bridge, Quigley was one of the officers of the watch, and Will watched as Quigley stiffened, "Sir, something's queer with the ship."

"She feels fine." Will stepped next to him, doing his best to discern if anything was odd with the Peterel. The engines thrummed under his feet, fighting the restraint that had been imposed by Bligh, the decks were clean and a few men were finishing a last holystoning.

Quigley shook his head, pointing. "The cargo ship, sir. She's signaling."

Will's gaze shot over, trying to find what Quigley was talking about. It only took a minute to find a man hanging over the rail of the cargo ship, a mirror in his hand that he kept flashing in a pattern. "Can you read it?"

"A moment, sir." Quigley's eyes narrowed, "Why wouldn't they use their wireless?"

"Because we're under orders not to, so as to not help the Hun." The quartermaster muttered, his fingers flexing on the wheel. "Bloody foolish."

"U-boat." Quigley whispered, "Sir, there's a U-boat!"

"Damn." Will cursed, his mind rushing through what needed to be done. First, he cast his eyes over the port side of his ship, looking for the tell-tale sign of a periscope, a streak of white water, but he saw nothing. "It must be on the other side of them." As if in agreement with this, the other ship began to rapidly turn towards them, clearly intent on zigzagging in some way to present a harder target.

"Your orders, Commander?" Quigley seemed rigid, as did the other juniors on the bridge.

Will took a deep breath, realizing that he was in charge. He felt the responsibility of the moment settle on him like a coat, a weight on his shoulders that made him stand up straighter. He could handle this; he would handle this and everything would come out right in the end. "Mr. Quigley, all back full. Mr. Sharpe, when we have slowed, hard to starboard." The similarities those orders brought up to those he had given on a frigid night in April made his spine shiver, but he fought it down. Quigley had already thrown the annunciators to the proper position, looking to him again. "Move to battle stations. When Mr. Sharpe begins the turn, all ahead full, Mr. Quigley."

"Aye, sir." Quigley was posed at the annunciators, his fingers shaking slightly.

Will looked to one of the other junior officers, "Go try and rouse the captain and any of the senior officers."

"I'm supposed to be in the torpedo rooms." The officers glanced away, his voice shaking.

"Try for two minutes, then to your post. If they can't be roused then we shall handle it ourselves." Will let out a breath, watching as the bulk of the cargo ship crossed their bow. He heard the movement of the wheel as Sharpe began the turn, the ring of the annunciators as Quigley threw them to their proper position. It had been far more than two minutes; Will would be on his own for this.

Men ran past the bridge windows, binoculars clutched in their hands as they began scanning the sea as they crossed the wake of the cargo ship. The Peterel seemed glad to be able to slip her leash, engines roaring and thrusting the ship forward so suddenly that Will started. He watched as the turrets moved slightly, the barrels dipping and rising briefly as their crews ascertained their position.

A voice echoed from a speaking pipe, echoing around the bridge. "U-boat spotted, thirty points off starboard bow!"

Everyone looked in that direction, spotting the periscope quickly. Will heard Quigley gasp as the periscope rose, revealing a conning tower the broke through the waves quickly. Hatches were thrown open, men swarming down it to ready the deck gun. They were mere dots from here, and Will scrambled for a pair of binoculars himself.

The magnified view revealed that they hadn't noticed the destroyer before they surfaced, and Will watched as they called up the tower and the U-boat slowly twisted to point at them, letting the cargo ship slip away in favor of a greater prize. After all, why sink a cargo ship when a destroyer presented such a tempting target? Quigley spoke, making him lower the binoculars. "They're targeting us, sir."

"I am aware, Mr. Quigley." Will resisted the urge to snap at him, the boy was scared but still trying to do his duty. "Have we acquired a firing solution?"

Quigley repeated his question into the speaking tube, the junior officer who was sitting as high up as he could and calculating the range yelling back. "In a moment, sir! She's too high in the water for the torpedoes, it's only going to be the guns."

"Very well," Will twisted his hands together to stop the shaking that he could feel starting, "We're closing quickly anyway, so…" His voice trailed off as he saw a brief flash from the U-boat guns, a puff of smoke and he could swear he heard whistling for a moment.

The bridge erupted in flame and smoke, broken glass flying quickly and tearing through any man that was standing. Will felt a large piece cut across his chest as he fell backward, and he clapped a hand to it immediately. The smoke swirled around, obscuring his view of anything but he could hear men screaming. He scrambled on his knees towards the wheel, where the screaming was loudest.

The quartermaster had been hit as well, his face cut by flying shards of glass and his hands clamped around his thigh, where a large piece of glass had impacted and was stuck. His eyes were wild when he looked to Will, "Take it out! Take it out!"

Will's hands weren't shaking as his hands dropped to his belt, stripping it off. "No, if we do that you'll bleed out in minutes." He slipped the belt under the man's leg, tightening it and stopping the flow of blood to the wound. He'd sailed often enough to see men get shards of wood thrust into almost every place they could be, and he'd listened closely to the surgeons when they'd hauled the injured party down to be tended to.

Quigley coughed, and Will saw a dark shape stumble through the smoke that was beginning to clear. "Sir, are you alright?"

"Flesh wound." Will muttered, reaching up and grabbing Quigley to pull him down. The young man's face was bloody, no doubt from cuts on his face and the large cut to his scalp that was streaming blood. He shoved him at Sharpe. "Hold that belt tight, don't let him move."

"Yes, sir." Quigley's hands replaced his own, and Will heard him muttering to Sharpe about how he needed to stay calm.

Will stood, his head ringing as he grabbed the wheel to support himself. Footsteps came rushing in, men and some of the junior officers coming to ascertain the damage. Quigley started calling for a stretcher, for multiple stretchers, for some of the other officers were laying down and groaning as Will stared out the wrecked windows. The annunciators were twisted, the speaking pipes torn, gauges and indicators broken beyond repair. But the Peterel still stood, her men were still ready to fight, and Will felt an anger rise in him that he had only felt for the Reichsters. The ocean looked almost calm now, the chop having died down and the sun still bright.

Not far from the bow, U-boat was sitting there calmly, men loading another shell.

He almost jumped as the Peterel's guns roared in response, shells sending up plumes of water around the U-boat and rocking the thing. But there was no damage, no smoke aside from the cordite that billowed from the barrels and no flame. They were too close; he would have to take them out farther to use the guns again.

But that would allow them to use their gun as well, or worse, their torpedoes.

Will tightened his fingers around the wheel, already turning it. Quigley, standing by the stretcher holding Sharpe and still holding the belt, looked over. "Sir, your orders?"

"Get him to the surgeons." Will grit his teeth, watching as the bow slowly turned. The ship heeled under his feet, the entire ship slewing onto her right side as she groaned and protested the sudden change of direction. He felt a grim smile break out on his face, seeing the U-boat now almost perfectly centered as he let the wheel loose and returned them to a straight course. "I'm ending this."

Quigley's eyes widened as he saw what Will intended, "Brace for impact!"

The stretcher-bearers grabbed at anything they could, and Will watched with grim satisfaction as the U-boat gun crew abandoned their posts, leaping into the water as the Peterel slammed into the U-boat. The ship shuddered underneath his feet, slowing as she dragged her opponent along with her. Will could almost see the damage that he was inflicting, the way the pressure hull of the U-boat would shear and snap, the water flooding in and weighing down the submarine.

Eventually the weight grew too great to keep her buoyant, and the Peterel resumed her fast pace as the submarine sank beneath the waves, all chances of her surfacing again gone.

A cheer went up around the bridge, and Will had no doubt it was being echoed throughout the entire ship. His fingers slipped from their death grip on the wheel, and when he pressed a hand to his chest to make sure he was still breathing, it came away bloody. But there was little time to focus on that, for it seemed the bridge was flooded with junior officers that had come racing to see if anyone was still alive. He mumbled orders for their speed to be reduced, boats to be launched to pick up what remained of the German crew as prisoners, repairs to be started and men sent to the surgeons. His head felt like it was wrapped in cotton, once his orders had been given, they seemed to slip from his mind, and he wearily stood in the midst of the officers as they organized everything.

But then he was being hurried along to the surgeon's, all of the injured being assessed quickly by the surgeon and his assistants. Will waved him off, pointing to Sharpe who was at least quiet now, if a bit gray. Will was given a pad of gauze and told to strip off his jacket and shirt, then press the pad to his wound. He wasn't the only one cursing in the room, many of the other injured having been given similar instructions.

It seemed they had come out alright through, the only major injury being Sharpe who was whisked away to where the surgeon and his assistants could tend to him. So, it was shirtless, mopping his blood off himself and doing his best to determine how bad his cut was, that Bligh found him. Will blearily looked up to see Bligh rushing towards him, only Quigley launching himself from his chair and grappling with him, prevented Bligh from striking him. "What did you do to my ship?"

"Sir, calm yourself!" Quigley shouted, shoving Bligh back. "Commander Murdoch assumed command while you were indisposed."

"She's blown all to hell!" Bligh tried to get past Quigley, who was weaving on his feet as he blocked him. "We'll be lucky if they don't scrap her when we get back in!"

Will blinked, his tongue fumbling until he found his voice. "She's still sound, she'll need repair. But we sunk a U-boat and only had minor casualties."

"And what made you think you could command her!" Bligh finally shoved Quigley away, and the room of cursing men was silent as he approached Will. "You are not worthy of command." Bligh looked to some of the other men, "Take Mr. Murdoch to the brig. He can sit there, behind bars, until we return to Rosyth and he can face court-martial."

Will watched as the men looked from him to their captain, their faces dark. Not a one stood, and one man actually leaned forward to spit at Bligh's feet. The captain's face grew red, his eyes furious. "How dare you? I'll have you thrown in there with him!" Bligh whirled on Will, his fist raised. "You've turned them all against me! Mutiny!"

To Will, Bligh's fist moved slowly, as if it were underwater, until Quigley caught it and roughly shoved their captain up against a wall, his arm cross Bligh's throat. "It's not mutiny, it's loyalty. If Commander Murdoch hadn't been there we'd all be dead. You got drunk while on duty, if anyone should be confined to the brig, it's you."

Bligh was spluttering curses as he tried to fight the younger man off, doing his best to kick Quigley's legs out from underneath him. More men started to their feet, and Will tried to get his own underneath him. If Bligh kept speaking like that the men were going to kill him, and Will knew that would only make trouble for all of them.

It was only the arrival of the surgeon, Sharpe's blood on his hands, that kept further violence from breaking out. "What the hell is going on here?"

Quigley pulled his arm away from Bligh in a huff, "Captain Bligh is demanding Commander Murdoch be thrown into the brig."

"If Commander Murdoch is to be confined, his status as an officer and gentleman entitles him to being confined in his quarters, as the captain knows." The surgeon spoke sharply, throwing a glare at Bligh. "He needs to be tended to before going."

"And he will be confined!" Bligh straightened his uniform, doing his best to regain his composure. "As will you, Mr. Quigley. As soon as you two are finished, you are confined to quarters until the both of you can be put before a court-martial." He drew himself up, ignoring the hisses and muttered curses from the injured men as he left.

Will sighed, turning to the surgeon. "Sharpe?"

"He's out of danger for now, if you hadn't thrown that belt on him, he'd have lost the leg at best." The surgeon shook his head, "But he's on bedrest and morphine for some time. Now, let's get you straightened out."

He and Quigley were attended to next, Will's cut requiring stitches and Quigley having to have small pieces of glass picked out of his cuts. The two of them slowly hobbled their way back up to the junior officer quarters, both to favor their injuries and to prolong what little time as free men they had left. Quigley stopped when they reached the door to his quarters, a senior officer glowering at them. "Well, this is me."

Will nodded, "Thank you for your help today."

"You're the one who saved us." Quigley shook his head, "Showed the Hun what for, eh? Made the sea safe for everyone, you should be proud."

"I suppose." Will's mouth flooded with a sour taste. "I'll see you again in Rosyth." Quigley shook his hand, and the senior officer coughed loudly. Quigley went into this cabin, and Will went a few doors down to his. He had no doubt the senior officer would be standing out there to ensure that neither of them tried to come out.

Will didn't even consider it, sitting down heavily on his bunk and lowering his head to his palms. The sour taste was still there, and he took a shaky breath. He'd killed those men, willingly and with a smile on his face. He had no idea how many men crewed a U-boat, twenty? Thirty? And only two had been fished out, the lucky men of the gun crew now shivering in the brig that he had barely avoided.

He felt tears sting his eyes, and a sob wrenched itself out. He'd killed those men, men with families and friends, with lives, and he'd killed them. Whatever future they had, gone, all because of him. He couldn't blame an iceberg or standing orders, he had deliberately steered the ship with the intent to kill them. And not only that, now he was going to face a court-martial.

He'd be demoted and imprisoned.

Anastasia would receive a notice of his imprisonment, but he would not be able to send her anything else. No letters, no gifts from her, and he'd be marked forever in the eyes of the world as dishonorable. Perhaps she'd be better off to divorce him when he was imprisoned, she could certainly claim he'd abandoned her. She'd find someone else, she'd have men flocking around her. A wealthy, beautiful divorcee? She'd have her pick, and more than likely she'd choose Oscar. Her life would go back to what it should have been before he had roughly shoved himself into it, ruining everything.

His sobs stuttered as he remembered that he could face an even worse fate.

If his offense was deemed harmful enough, he could be ordered to be shot, or hung. Regardless, he'd be dead and gone. Ana would get a notice, telling her that her husband had disgraced himself and his country and been executed for it. He wept then, seeing the future that he wanted so badly slipping from his fingers. His wife would be a widow, without even a child to comfort her, his father ashamed of his son, his siblings would disown him and Lights would refuse to speak of him to his children anymore. Uncle Will would be no more, a source of shame and disgust to those closest to him.

Will wept until he felt he had no more tears, but when he woke up his pillow was still wet.