All of this is not entirely factually correct, but merely influenced by the time period and aftermath of the war. I'm sure you probably know this, but in America, December is winter (it is odd for me to think of Australia having summer in December haha) so that is why the weather is as such.

Although the war with the Central Powers had ended over a month prior, it was a treacherous journey back to New York where all foreigners were allowed free passage back to their mother country. Americans shared cabins with the French and the British and the Russians and the great ships carried them to their shared destination. On their long voyage, a ship had been overturned through the Atlantic and thousands of other casualties and deaths were added to the lists of those that died by the violence. The conditions were cramped and dirty but they made do, their faces solemn as they drifted over the unkind waters.

Pushing through the crowds at the dock, Steff glanced around, her hand knotted in the edge of her skirt, which was narrow and restricted her movement. Her parents had refused to indulge in buying her the latest fashions, which included tulle pleats in the side of skirts that allowed for greater strides, but she hadn't been surprised. They had spent far too much money on her brother, her parent's precious son, to buy anything much for her.

Her hair was braided modestly behind her back and curled into a bun, hidden under a wide, lace hat that sheltered her face from the wind. She had refused to wear anything too colourful in the time of warning and the dark hues of her skirts and blouse kept her from feeling the cold brunt of the December chill.

The docks were packed with people and she furrowed her eyebrows nervously as she walked through, trying to keep the mess of people from stepping on her skirt. A paperboy near her shouted out the news, waving about a damp newspaper with his cap of a few coins extended to the crowd. He yelled something about a new list of casualties and unknown victims and Steff turned away instantly, pushing her way to a less crowded area of the dock.

There was a group of young women from the church handing out pamphlets for Christian groups, extending wishes of good holidays and moral behaviour. A few people walked over to get one, saying grace with rosaries clutched in their hands as if their 'amens' could fix the tragedies that the war brought. People around her clamoured with excitement, a few of them announcing they could see the ships in the distance. Someone next to her muttered something about the crowd and the voice was lost in the wind.

A well dressed boy, looking no older than twenty or so, leaned casually against a post, a cigarette rested on his lip. A bit of dark ginger hair hung in his eyes and it was instantly moved by the cool, wet winds, putting out his cigarette. He cursed and dropped it on the deck, stepping on it to ensure it was snuffed out before reaching for another one and a lighter. Then, under his breath, he began to hum an old Russian folk song and Steff lifted her head to go over to him.

"Sir," she started out, a great deal of hesitance in her posture as she leaned back on her heels, a meter from him, "Have you any idea where the Duncan will dock? You see, I'm looking for someone."

Glancing over at her, he inhaled a puff from his cigarette, regarding her with a stare that made her feel rather uncomfortable. Then, reaching into his pocket, he held out his box of cigarettes.

"Care for a..." He had asked her something but it sounded so foreign and odd that she didn't quite catch it. Blushing, she took a step towards him.

"Sorry?"

"A smoke. A fag. One of the durries," he said again in a pleasant accent, raising his eyebrows as if he were particularly dense. Understanding, she shook her head quickly.

"Oh, no thank you. I don't smoke," Steff responded, her cheeks heating up. Lifting a hand, she tilted down the front of her hat, glancing shyly back at the ocean.

"Your loss," he shrugged and stuck the cigarettes back into his suit pocket, exhaling a few wisps of smoke that were instantly caught in the wind, "The Duncan is docking right here. The Sussex is the one just half a kilometer down the coast. It's nice to have them back home on Christmas Eve. I would hate to spend the holidays alone again...Ay, you're from England. I can tell from the look. You don't look American."

"I-I am from England," she stammered, suddenly more self-conscious than she had been before, "Immigrants aren't always so welcome here."

"I'm from Russia, but I'm sure you could tell from the accent," he continued, looking particularly amused with himself, "At least you're full white. As for me, I've got a bit of oriental in my blood, I'll 'ave you know. A quarter Vietnamese. It only shows a little, though."

"Really?" Showing a bit of interest, she smoothed her blouse and looked up to make eye contact. Her mother, a strict traditionalist, had never allowed her to speak with anyone of any Asian descent. Granted, though, she had only ever heard of the Chinese coming to America to work in mines and for the railroad companies and her mother forbade her from leaving the city to go see. In England in her house on the countryside, her only neighbors for kilometers were a few wealthy white folk, which treated them kind enough, but their house always smelled of soup.

"Yep. My parents are ragin' advocates for the liberals. They deal with racial integration and all of that," he stated, proud of the fact, "They didn't want any kids but they got two. Funny how that works but we get along...alright. 'Course we don't agree on everything, like the war, but they're a little more open minded than others."

"Ah, I see." She didn't, really, since her parents had never been very open-minded. "I read the liberalist papers sometimes. I write, too."

He raised his eyebrows, looking appreciative. "You're literate?"

Slowly, she smiled a bit, looking away and off into the distance. "Very. I've even gotten a few of my articles published, but...of course they've been published under other names. I did the analysis papers on the German troops and their intents."

"I must have read that, then. I've always been interested in the war."

"Oh? And why aren't you fighting?"

He paused for a long moment and Steff swallowed nervously at her question.

"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, "I didn't mean to offend-"

"I didn't take any offense," he assured her, "I'm sick. I can't fight. They didn't clear me for combat."

Steff raised a hand to her mouth, unsure of how to react. Curiosity burned at the questions in the back of her head but she merely turned to face the ocean where the ship grew nearer. A bit of nervous anticipation fluttered in her chest and she wasn't sure if the pressure on her lungs was one of good anxiety or bad. The boy near her shifted and she immediately looked over at him, studying him shyly as if she could pick out what was wrong with him.

"It's okay, you know. You can ask."

"Then," she said slowly, "What's wrong with you?"

"I have a type of lung malignancy in early stages," he stated casually, setting the cigarette at his lips to inhale again, "No, it's not from the smokes. Everyone smokes these days, anyway. It's not like I can do any more damage to my lungs."

"You seem young and perfectly healthy, though," Steff blurted out, unable to stop herself, "Why do you have it? That's...terrible."

"Long exposure to arsenic. It's not like I'm going to die within the year, but I've just got to be careful. They're calling it the perfect housewife poison, you know." There was a hint of objectivity in her tone, a sort of detachedness that made her feel a bit of pity. "It really is the perfect poison if you know how much to put in someone's drink. If not, then you're left with-...Oh, goodness, I never asked your name. How terribly rude of me. I'm never used to giving out my name."

"Whyever not?" Steff asked before continuing, the subject of his illness long forgotten, "I'm Stephanie, but everyone calls me Steff."

"Ah, Steff," he said and nodded at her name, "Name's Connor. I guess I never give out my name because the thing about my brother and I is that we're identical. No one can tell us apart anyway, so we don't bother with names."

"You and your brother must be close, then."

With a smile, he gave a slow nod. "Yes...He's really all I have."

Swearing vulgarly under his breath, Aspen's hands shook as he buttoned up his waistcoat, jumping out of the way as he nearly walked into the path of a carriage and a car. Holding his jacket and coat high from the ground, which was covered in puddles, he slung his coat over his shoulder and started on slipping his jacket on. The air was cold and he breathed it in with a delighted smile, keeping his footsteps quick. The ships were docking, he had heard, and he wouldn't be missing it.

As he hurried down the street, finally managing to slip his coat on as well, he shook black hair from his face and looked around at the familiar streets. Having been in England for quite a while on bad terms, he had missed the free air and fitting places and parlours and bakeries of New York that littered the towns. Just as he was about to turn down a street, his eyes caught a few familiar curls of red hair, his stride immediately coming to a standstill. From the back, he could see two of his old friends that he hadn't seen in at least three years, but they still looked exactly the same. No matter which way the time ran, he felt as if he were always caught in a standstill. The person next to the one with the short red hair gave a bright laugh at his own joke and Aspen smiled in recollection. They were an odd sort of friends, but they were friends nonetheless.

Walking over from behind them, he put on a large smile, deciding that he couldn't greet them without a grand entrance.

"Merry Christmas, boys," Aspen declared with a fiery grin, his eyes alight as he strode over to the cafe table, "I'm a changed man."

Looking back, the two rose from the cafe table where they had been sitting, look of shock imprinted on their faces. One of them muttered "I'd know that voice anywhere" but Aspen couldn't tell who said it. Either way, it didn't matter.

"Aspen?" the one with the red hair said, blinking a bit as he neared them, "You're back from England?"

"That's right, Kellan." Looking over at the other, he whistled a quick catcall. "Hey there, Finn. What's that? No greeting for your old pal?"

"Old?" Finn repeated, his mouth ajar. "Oh, God, you're not dead. We all thought you were dead."

"But, hey, I'm not and I'm just as pretty as ever. Wouldn't you agree?"

"You sneaky bastard." With a laugh of incredulousness, Finn dove towards him, wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing a matching sly grin into his neck. "Where on earth have you been? Things here weren't the same. Well, Kellan is still boring and follows the laws too much, as usual." Pulling away slight, Finn studied him. "You look different. A little. You have a bit of a scar on the side of your neck, have you noticed?"

"You gave us a scare," Kellan agreed, fixing his necktie, "We all thought you had gone to fight the war single-handedly."

"No, I got stuck in England," Aspen said grandly, on the verge of explaining, "In prison."

"Prison?" With a frown, Kellan crossed his arms. "What did you do?"

"I was charged with gross indecency, my good fellows, because England is not so accepting of my preferences." Holding out his arms, Aspen's eyes gleamed with his usual enthusiasm. "You're lucky I got out alive. The only reason I did is because they needed my cell. There's lots of war criminals now, you know, and my sexual endeavours were no longer of interest to them. Not to mention that now, they'd probably have to charge the entire cell block with gross indecency since now I've acquainted most of them with the idea that one does not necessarily need a woman to-"

"Ah, that's enough," Kellan interrupted, clearing his throat, "You know that isn't something to laugh about. People are killed over...your...situation."

"Am I that taboo to you? What is it like in that sad fishbowl life of yours, Kellan?" Aspen teased, "I don't hate on you and your preferences just because you prefer women and I prefer all."

"What was it like in prison?" Ignoring Kellan's concern, Finn brightened in intrigue. "Did you talk with any killers? When did you get back?"

"Oh, I've just been home since yesterday evening. I figured I'd come out to-"

"Aspen." Sharply, in a tone he seldom used, Kellan stared him down; he had always been the most reasonable of the three. "You ought to be more careful. If you are too reckless in public-"

"What? What will they do? Put me in prison again? Look, my good friends, I've just got to go. I want to meet Cas when he gets off the ship," Aspen said, looking distracted as he started off again, eager to be everywhere at once, "Come by my place tomorrow. I'll fix us a good drink." Without looking back, he pulled away from them both, setting his sights on the incoming ship that seemed to cast the coast in a shadow.

Steff waited anxiously as the ship docked, the sails billowing above the crowds so they almost seemed as if they were the ones casting the winds. The morning was young, but families were gathered anyway, a few young children crying over the chill that made their noses run. The sun reflected off the water and into her eyes and Steff raised a hand to block it, squinting slightly. A child near her started to babble incessantly about guns and she flinched, taking a few steps away. It was never healthy for children to be exposed to things like war at such an early age, lest they turn out like her brother.

A shout startled her from her daydream and she tried to stand up on her toes in her boots, craning to see over the crowd of people. Someone next to her whispered, "War prisoners," and she widened her eyes, peering through the people.

A well-built Caucasian soldier had started to usher two people down the ramp that connected the ship to the harbour, a rifle pointed at their backs. The prisoner's hands were restrained behind their back and one of them was angrily muttering something in a language she couldn't understood. Her eyes roamed their uniforms and the quieter one of the two just looked around with a bit of nervousness, looking fiercely defensive over who he was walking with. A red stripe around their caps and cuffs gave them away as Bulgarian soldiers, part of the Central Powers.

Surely, they were just people like the rest of them. It was only a pity that there had to be a losing side and a winning one.

The soldier ushered them along and the crowd parted to let them through, the people exchanging silent looks. The group of church women prayed together for a moment as if to ignore the prisoners, their hands clasped together and their heads tilted towards one another. Another person whistled a holiday carol and as soon as the prisoners were out of sight, the chatter between the people increased and they were long forgotten.

Slowly, the soldiers started to trickle from the ship from different exits, a few mothers throwing themselves at their husbands with tears of joy as their young children kept their cold, small hands clutching at their skirts, wondering who the strange men were. A few teen soldiers left with bandages still wrapped around their faces, their arms in splints and casts. They only bore smiles, though, glad as they rushed to their mothers for a warm greeting. Delighted cries rang across the pier, bringing a bit of hope back into Steff's expression. Other people's happiness was enough to fuel her own.

"Loki," she called out, trying to push her way through the masses of people and soldiers, "Loki! It's Stephanie." If her brother could see the way she was calling for him now, he would have been pleased. He always seemed upset and it was no surprise when he wanted to go off to war, having always talked about fighting for his country.

After a minute, she called his name again, looking a little bit embarrassed. When she turned back to the ships, she found that the crowds had thinned, people starting to walk back home with their family.

Seeing a soldier with a uniform from France on, Steff started towards him, remembering that her brother had fought alongside the French in the later battles. She had been indirectly informed about that by her parents, who were the only people Loki bothered writing. She had never minded much, though, seeing as their relationship was always teetering between tolerable and bad.

"Pardon me for interrupting," she said, although the French solider hadn't been talking to anyone, or looking for anyone, for that matter, "But do you know a soldier named Loki? Loki Tide?"

When he looked up, she found that he looked to be about her brother's age, if a bit younger, but she was unsurprised. The soldiers were often recruited young. His eyes flickered over her as if scanning her and he ran a hand through his hair to push it back from his eyes.

"Loki? Sure, I know him," he said, looking particularly unimpressed. One of his hands was wrapped in a bandage, but he didn't look to be in any pain as he started to clean his musket.

"Yes?" she pressed on, feeling terrible that she needed to interrogate someone on their first day back on dry land after the war, "Where is he? He sent...my family a letter a few weeks ago, so I know he's fine."

"I believe he's stuck in customs," he answered, looking a little bit annoyed.

Steff frowned inwardly, but she wouldn't let herself be put in a bad mood, even if it was her brother she was looking for.

"Do...do you know why?"

"Listen, lady-" the solider remarked unkindly and she was a little bit surprised when she noticed that he didn't have a hint of a French accent, "-I don't know what he did. He was in my fleet and that was all."

"I..." She grew quiet, knowing that her parents would have scolded her for talking too much. "Thank you then, I suppose.

"I wouldn't stay around here alone," he added suddenly, a certain drawl to his tone that made her realize he was far from concerned for her safety, as if he just wanted to show that he knew more than she did, "A young girl in the midst of...deprived soldiers. They'd be quick to whisk you away."

"Why...that's quite forward of you," she responded, looking uncomfortable with his sudden piece of 'advice', "Are you trying to warn me off you?"

"That's a rather stupid question. I wasn't coming onto you in the first place. Do all little girls assume such things?"

"That wasn't what I meant and I'm not a little girl," she defended suddenly, forgetting to bite the remark back. "I'm a lot smarter than you make me out to be, you know."

"Interesting." At her claim, he looked a little bit smug, as if entertained, and pushed off the post where he was leaning. "I didn't think you had it in you to say something like that. I didn't mistake you for someone stupid. I mistook you for someone who'd let anyone say anything about her and just nod along as a response. Now, that would be stupid."

"It wouldn't be right, either. Correct or righteous to assume something so low of me."

"It's not given to people to judge what's right or wrong. People have eternally been mistaken and will be mistaken, and in nothing more so than in what they consider right and wrong," he said breezily, letting his musket hang from his good hand, "That's what I believe."

Steff gave the soldier a funny look.

"You didn't come up with that," she said as if to call him out on that fact, "That's what Andrei Bolkonsky said. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy."

"Yes, it was Andrei that said that," he said, his eyes glinting over to her before regaining his composure to suggest that he was unimpressed, "Now if you'll excuse me, I've to go register for my passport, silly things. I don't enjoy dallying around." Starting past her, he joined the thin stream of people leaving, soon blending in with the rest of the fair-haired and fair-skinned young soldiers that had been heading off as well. She frowned inwardly, less concerned about her brother and more concerned about when she would have to return back home unaccompanied. And, she realized, that she had forgotten to ask the solider his name.

Sitting on the edge of the dock, Aspen pushed a rock into the water that lapped at the support beams, watching it create ripples that spread wider and wider until the flattened out completely. The commotion of people behind him started to grow quiet and church bells rang in the background. He had been raised strictly Protestant for most of his childhood in the bleak little orphanage in Alabama. He had been the only one in the place with black hair and he had lost the twang in his voice years ago when he had moved to New York.

Now, he hadn't gone to church in nearly six years since he was seventeen and it was of no interest to him. All he ever did in church was sing hymns and read the bible and pray to a god he didn't believe in. Even if he had believed, he still hated the bible. It was contradictory and made him out to be a sinner in all sorts of ways. Which, he supposed, was almost right, seeing as almost everything he did was wrong in some way.

The ship had cast a shadow across the entire pier, shielding him from what little sunlight filtered through the winter clouds. It wasn't a very festive time but, with everyone coming back home, it was a good time.

"You never wrote."

Aspen lifted his chin at the sudden clear voice that started behind him, a smile growing on his face. Rising up slowly, he turned around to face who he had been expecting, shaking dark hair from his eyes.

"I never had the chance," he responded, a look of relief in his expression, "Cas. You're okay."

"I am," Caspian answered, looking reserved and tense, his eyes avoiding him to instead stare out into the ocean. He was silent, always opting to think instead of voice every single thought that went through his head. Aspen found that they were complete opposites.

"I'm very glad of it," he said, moving to take his hand to squeeze it in reassurance before slipping an arm around him in affection. Caspian ground his teeth, a gleam on pain in his eyes that was the only indication that he was in any pain at all. Instantly, Aspen pulled back, his eyes searching him for any injury, a questioning look in his expression. Instantly, Caspian started slowly towards the street and off the pier.

"Don't ask," was all he said, his tone clipped and closed off. Catching up to him, Aspen nodded.

"Alright, then. Until later. I'm really happy you're back, though. And just in time for Christmas. You've spent three Christmas' without me," he chirped, taking his arm instead, "Did you celebrate Christmas at all in the war?"

"I haven't even known you for three Christmas'," Caspian said as if Christmas was a foreign idea to him, "And last Christmas, you didn't get me anything good."

"I got you something very good." Looking puzzled and amused, Aspen tried to stop a laugh. "I imported you some German condoms, since they're all the rage there. You should be grateful. I heard that a lot of people in the navy got a bad case of syphilis."

"I threw them out instantly," he responded, looking uncomfortable in all the bad sorts of ways, "It was a stupid gift."

"I got you chocolate too."

"Why didn't you write?" Caspian questioned, suddenly changing the topic.

"Oh...it's a long story. I was being detained in England," Aspen remarked, looking proud of that manner, "But let's not talk about that, because you know I'm constantly getting in trouble. I'd rather talk about you."

"I'd rather not."

"Really, though, what was it like? Did you kill people?"

"Of course I did and-...I'd rather talk about something else."

The streets suddenly felt very cold and empty and Aspen drew closer to him, raising his free hand to push a bit of blonde hair behind his ear for a moment before pulling away very quickly. His eyes roamed the streets but, from where they were walking, he couldn't see anyone and he was glad of that. If he did something that looked...wrong, he'd get in trouble, no doubt, so he let go of his arm as well.

"You still look very handsome, if you were wondering," he stated plainly, tucking his hands in his coat pockets, "And I've made arrangements for Kellan and Finn to come over for Christmas Eve. And then maybe invite a few ladies to join us. It won't be anything with funny business, I promise. I can cook, too. And you need to come. You don't have to bring anything or talk to people, but I just want you over. Okay?"

"That'd...That'd be okay," he said, sounding unsure, "I'll be over before it gets dark."

"You had better come earlier than that. Maybe noon." Aspen smiled at him. "Am I walking you home? You should go home, shouldn't you? It's this way, if you had forgotten."

"I hadn't."

"That's good, or else I would have been worried."

Steff noticed that the Russian she had spoken to before the ship docked was facing the ocean when she left, a hand pressed over his face and a somber yellow note dangling from his free hand. His shoulders were shaking imperceptibly and she stood away from him for a long time, wondering if she should go over to console him. But no, they hadn't known each other for more than ten minutes or so and she wouldn't impede.

Walking off with a bit of guilt, she glanced back every so often. She hadn't ever seen a man cry before.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, stopping every so often to let a carriage or car by when they needed to cross the street. There was too much to say, they supposed, for a walk across the town and they exchanged silent glances every so often. One of them would catch the other one's eyes and they'd watch each other for a moment before looking away suddenly. It was normally Caspian that looked away first.

Finally, they had neared a quiet street where Caspian had lived a few years prior before he had gone off to the war. He paled a little bit at the familiarity of everyone and Aspen studied him sidelong. It must have been difficult, he knew, to suddenly be transported from a comfortable life to death and suffering and so much blood and then back to a comfortable life on the edge of a town. There were no grenades hidden in the bushes or soldiers ducking behind fences and that idea was hard for Caspian to grasp and even harder for Aspen to understand. Prison, of course, had been tough, but war had been unbearable.

"I'll let you settle in alone," Aspen said, turning to face him at the steps of Caspian's place, "And then I'll go home and come back with some food. Tea, maybe, too."

"You don't need-"

"I want to," he insisted, his green eyes bright as he stared at him. Slowly, he lifted a hand to set it against his cheek lightly, brushing it with his thumb.

"Aspen, people might see-"

"I'm so glad you didn't die," he said, throwing his arms around his neck suddenly to embrace him, "And we'll celebrate Christmas and the new year and I'll come over a lot and bring you things. And if you ever need any help or someone to talk to, you can come by or I can come by...Alright?"

"I don't want you going out of your way to..." Caspian swallowed, letting himself relax slightly. "I mean...Alright. Sometimes."

"Sometimes is good enough for me. And-...You're okay right now and I was so worried and...I won't leave. It really is a happy holiday," Aspen said, burying his face in his neck for a moment before pulling back just slightly to kiss his cheek, "Welcome back...Welcome home."