Chapter Text
February brought about the perfect time for planting shallots. The cold air and frozen ground were no excuse for not digging for victory. They had to lead by example.
Havers spent the morning leading the efforts to dig the regimental allotment: sweaty but critical work. This enabled the Captain to write out the stock-take results for Command and put in a request for further supplies of... well, everything. It seemed that somehow their allocated quantity of all items were running dry ahead of schedule.
Whilst his duties robbed him of the chance to watch, the Captain had no doubt that Havers was ploughing thoroughly in preparation to sow his seeds. The image of Havers' hard work and admirable strength kept the Captain motivated as he combed through the dismal inventory numbers. He thought of Havers' sleeves rolled to his elbows, his arms flexing. At the pleasant image, any cynicism as to whether there was foul play contributing to their low stocks was wiped away.
At 1150hrs, the Captain finished filling out the final box on the form. The rest of the unit would be wrapping up their activities soon, the allotment chaps making their way inside to clean themselves up for lunch. His heart skipped a bit at the thought of Havers returning with charmingly pink cheeks from the brisk air, a smudge of soil on his forehead.
Setting down his pen, the Captain deemed it time to take a quick comfort break before convening in the Mess. He would pop to the bedroom and fill up his pipe, use the lavatory, then go to eat.
He neatly tucked his chair beneath the desk and clicked the office door closed behind him. A tune formed on his lips as he crossed the landing. Through the ballroom he hummed to himself. He opened the bedroom door, still mid-note and-
“Havers! I apologise!”
The Captain looked away from the awful lot of skin he was faced with. The man was mid-changing, shirt held in his hands.
Trying not to think about – or look back towards – the lithe torso just feet away from him, he turned on his heel and left Havers in peace, firmly closing the door behind him.
Outside, he gave the floorboards a very intense stare. He should have knocked. He had been inattentive. Slack. Negligent. Havers deserved none of these from him. It was disrespectful to the man's privacy, and would make their following encounters quite uncomfortable for the Captain's carelessness.
Then a new worry reared its ugly head: perhaps his panicked escape had given him away.
He was still frozen in place, glaring unseeingly at the floor, when the bedroom door opened. The Captain jumped slightly, looking up as Havers stepped out – mercifully fully dressed.
Havers gave a small smile. His soft features were sheepish. Pity? Or embarrassment?
The Captain felt his mouth open and close a few times like a goldfish before he managed to speak. “Havers, I- That intrusion. I am most deeply sorry.”
“There really is no need, sir.” Havers was hurried in his assertion. “We are army chaps, are we not? We're used to seeing our fellow troops in a state of undress.”
That would be true for most men in the unit. However, the Captain had always shied away from such things for reasons of his own self-conscious disposition, propriety, and... well. Shame, he supposed.
“I- yes,” he lied.
“Then no harm done, hm? And had I been that bothered, I would have locked the door.” A wicked grin spread across Havers' face. “Besides, I was only changing my shirt – I didn't subject you to any more of my being!”
“Havers.” Scandalised and trying desperately to swat down a vision of what Havers had meant, his face began heating up.
Unperturbed, Havers glanced at his wristwatch. “Come on, I make it nearly time for lunch.”
“Lead on, Havers.” His voice came out all croaky. He frantically cleared his throat as Havers wheeled around and he followed him out.
*
The Captain left his office and started down the corridor. From a doorway, a member of the troop stepped into his path to intercept him.
It was Private Bacon. She had arrived only a month ago. The youngest member of the unit, to the Captain she looked about twelve.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I wondered whether I might have a moment of your time?” The tremor in her speech and uncertainty etched on her face seemed to imply that she feared addressing him.
“Ah, go ahead.”
“It's just- I've been feeling a little out of sorts.” Beneath glassy eyes, her lip quivered. “I was wondering whether I might-” Her voice broke. “I'm sorry,” she said, before crumpling entirely.
The Captain felt his eyes widen in horror. “I ah- ahem- ermmm.” He bounced and cast his gaze at his feet, grasping at what to do.
A military man, he had been trained for many types of crises. Dealing with a crying young woman was not one.
The Captain would never admit it to anyone but he had his fair share of crippling emotions. Hidden behind a stiff upper lip, his nerves could take hold quite harshly. Despite this, he hadn't the foggiest how to handle consoling another.
“I say, I-” he tried to begin again.
No further wisdom came to him.
Face hidden in her hands, Bacon continued to blub.
Discomfort prickled across the Captain's skin.
“Are you... ahem, unwell?” He ventured uselessly. Directing her to a medic if she had an ailment was something he could achieve. A female medic, perhaps, in case this was a matter of... womanness.
Bacon shook her head.
“Hnnnggg-” A sound like a car struggling to start came from somewhere within his chest. He stared blankly at the young woman now frantically wiping her eyes.
A floorboard creaked. The Captain looked up. A tall figure had appeared.
“Ah! Havers!”
He breathed a sigh of relief. Back-up had arrived.
Bacon's pink face emerged, peering at them with even more fear now that she was faced with two officers.
“I was just reassuring young Private Bacon... well, I was-” Feeling quite startled at Havers finding him in this situation, he looked blankly at him. His mouth opened and closed uselessly.
Holding eye contact with him, Havers seemed to understand. He turned to Bacon. “Hey now, what's all this?” His gentle timbre wouldn't have been out of place speaking to a kitten.
This was seemingly all the prompting she needed. Through her tears, she explained. She explained how difficult it was being away from home for the first time, and in the middle of a war of all things. She was fine physically and she wanted to do her bit. But the routine was unusual and she felt out of depth with the expectations. And, and-
It was true, it was no first holiday away from home for the youngsters. And with little experience, it was no doubt quite strange to face. It was strange enough for those who were seasoned.
As she directed her explanation to Havers, the Captain stood like an awkward accessory. Havers listened patiently all the while and only spoke when she stuttered to a halt.
Havers softly responded that whilst ending the war was beyond his control, he assured her that he could offer additional guidance on the routine and her role. They could have informal one-to-one sessions in which she could ask whatever she liked. He said he hoped it would offer something in the way of making things easier.
The Captain felt a strange fuzziness at his generosity. He gazed upon his lieutenant's gentle profile with admiration.
As Bacon's tears ran dry, Havers bestowed that soft smile on her. “Shall we get you a cup of tea? I find that often does the trick. I'll allow you two hours off duties to steady yourself... if the Captain is in agreement?” He turned to the Captain, 'please' written across his face.
“Ah, of course.”
As the higher rank, the Captain had the final say. But it was important they were aligned on these things. Rules had to be enforced consistently.
“Jolly good, thank you, sir.” Havers looked back to Bacon. “Go and get yourself some rest – a walk might also help to clear your head. Report back to me at 1600hrs and we shall see how you are doing. If you're fit for evening duties, we can run through any questions you have and then you can join the others.”
Havers' grace in handling it was a good lesson. He made it look so easy that the Captain almost felt he could replicate it one day.
Bacon gave a small nod and weak, watery smile. “Thank you, sir-” she looked at the Captain, “sirs.”
On trembling legs, she left.
The Captain's feet shimmied side to side nervously. Once she was out of earshot, he spoke. “My gratitude, Havers.”
“Not at all.”
“I confess I... haven't much experience with the sentimentalities of the fairer sex.” His jaw clenched as he cringed. Did this impart the truth that he had always been a bachelor? He supposed any man with previous romantic attachments to women would have an idea on how to face up to such things.
“Have you not? I have had plenty. Having grown up with a sister, of course. Still, I don't think it is purely isolated to our female counterparts...” His eyes upon the Captain turned soft and meaningful.
“Ah... quite.” He cleared his throat and wondered just what it might be like to be on the receiving end of that comforting.
“We need to look out for them, just as our elders looked out for us when we were young.”
The Captain swallowed hard. He wasn't sure he had ever received much of that. Perhaps that was why he has such a tricky time bestowing support both on others and upon himself.
*
Daily Physical Jerks were due to start imminently. The Captain was late. He had gotten distracted by his own silly musings and lost track of time.
In the shorts and vest that one wore for energetic endeavours, he scurried down the stairs and through the house. On his way through the front door, he near-barged past Second Lieutenant Heanley, carrying a delivery crate inside.
Beneath the grey of the morning, he made haste across the damp grass well-watered from yesterday's drizzle. It seemed fit to be the kind of dreary day where it would never get fully light for thick cloud cover. The kind which injected a deep aching into the Captain's knees.
Before the Captain could round the corner to where the troops would be waiting, his foot skidded from beneath him. He hit the ground with a thump.
“Blast!”
As well as landing quite harshly on his derrière, he had also wrenched his shoulder in his attempts to catch himself.
“For heavens' sake,” he continued to curse under his breath, looking at his muddied hands. He shot a furtive glance around. It was only fortunate nobody had seen this incident: it avoided adding literal insult to injury.
Pushing himself off the cold ground, he winced. He brushed himself down to attempt to restore some order. Still stinging, he hobbled – as dignified as was possible to the lawn.
The Captain proceeded to lead the rigorous exercise session whilst sore and embarrassed. He had quickly called the group to attention and immediately kicked off with sit-ups. It was his hope that none of the men had spotted him arrive pre-muddy and that he could cover up his accident by romping on the ground in front of them.
For his pained state, he snapped at Sergeant Foster's sluggishness slightly more than strictly necessary.
Havers hadn't attended the session, seeing to an alleged mouse problem in the kitchen. He claimed to be fond of the creatures and convinced he could lure them out gently. Others might laugh, but the Captain would have been the same had it been an infestation of woodlice or the like: he was fond of insects instead.
Still, it was a shame to not have Havers in attendance – he always put on such a fine show, jumping around vigorously in his gym clothes.
Suitably sweaty, the Captain retreated back inside. His pants of breath clouded in front of him.
Through the Mess, up the stairs and across their room. He reached the bathroom for a wash. In there, it smelled of Havers' soap. Or, perhaps his own – they had the same standard-issue stuff. But Havers had washed most recently and so it was more likely his. Whilst the thought was inappropriate, it made the Captain's head spin.
Dressing back in his uniform proved a tad troublesome for the pain and stiffness from his fall. It took him slightly longer than usual, but with ginger movements he managed just fine.
By mid-afternoon, it was fortunate that most of the remaining aches from had melted away. Warming back through indoors had certainly helped to ease the sting. However, his shoulder still hurt.
Sitting at his desk wasn't too bad, provided he didn't lean on his arm. The bigger problem was when dinnertime arrived.
Carrying his tray proved a painful experience. He was already awfully conscious of himself three times a day when he transported his food to a table, afraid of it sliding or him tripping with it in front of everyone. To have an added obstacle increased the adversity he felt.
Serving of Woolton Pie dolloped atop his plate, a rapid walk across the Mess to his usual table was the ticket. Rapid, but careful, teeth gritted and breath held the whole time.
As Havers followed closely behind him, the Captain hoped he couldn't tell something was amiss. He shrugged away an imagining of falling over and causing tailgating Havers to go down too, landing atop him like pair of dominoes. Doing that would cause Havers to lose all the unit's respect too. The man would never forgive him.
They sat opposite one another on their usual table. Havers picked up his fork and speared a carrot. “Sorry that I couldn't join your jerking session this morning, sir.”
“Ah, not to worry, Havers.” If anything, it was a good thing that the man hadn't been there to see him in the state he'd been. “Any luck catching those mice?” He was subtly mixing his pastry into the vegetable filling, averse to the dry texture.
“Not seen whisker nor tail of them, sir.” Havers kept his gaze on his meal. “They're shy little creatures, they need time to come out. I'd wager they could be quite the affectionate companion though, if I had the opportunity to get to know them.” He punctuated the end of his speech by shovelling a forkful of food into his mouth.
“Ah, I daresay you would need to be in close-quarters for quite some time for them to build that trust, hm?”
Havers made a noise of agreement as he finished his mouthful. “Quite. Time is the answer.” He sipped his water. “Shame it isn't afforded to me, given the circumstances.”
The Captain always enjoyed these aimless conversations. Havers seemed to be the only person he had ever had them with. Everyone else spoke of practicalities or politics or social matters. Within those conversations, speaking felt like a puzzle to solve or a game to be won. And the Captain was never sure of the clues for the solution or the rules of playing to guide his success. With Havers, talking was easy. With Havers, he just spoke.
The only time it was ever difficult to speak to Havers was when he did something which flustered him. The problem being that this could be as innocent as walking unexpectedly into a room, or dishing him just an ounce of sudden attention. The way he could call “Sir?” and turn his warm eyes upon him made the Captain dizzy.
Havers must have thought him quite mad for becoming inexplicably flustered in these moments. But he never showed it. He was endlessly patient.
That evening, the Captain closed himself in the bathroom as always to get changed for bed. He set his pyjamas on the side of the bath, brushed his teeth, then faced the sink to begin undressing.
He unbuttoned his jacket but removing it proved a challenge. As he moved to do so, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. The injury's swelling had progressed, pain worsening as a result of added pressure to the site.
Unable to shrug the garment off as usual, he resorted to a more gentle approach inspired by what had worked earlier. He shook the sleeve easily from his good arm. Gingerly lifting his injured arm just a tad, he drew the fabric along it. The resulting sharp twinge had the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.
Standing holding his jacket, he sucked in a deep breath for courage.
He stood in his shirt and tie: his tie which really required two hands to be properly unknotted, his shirt with its unforgiving seams. Not to mention his vest underneath – that was one thing he couldn't unbutton and slide off.
For his inactivity and removal of his top woollen layer, he was getting cold. He was stationary and chilly – frozen in both semantics of the word.
Panic began to build in his chest. He felt quite trapped and decidedly awkward. Havers was waiting for him, and he hadn't even yet gotten to washing. He wasn't sure how he was going to get to washing.
Uselessly, he raised his good hand to his tie and began to try and pull it loose, trying to use the resistance of his neck to achieve this. The knot gripped tighter.
He pulled in frustration. This merely exacerbated the problem. Hand still clutching there, he stared at his stricken face in the mirror and tried to formulate a plan.
None the wiser on how to rescue himself, he tried pulling and wriggling the tie from side-to-side.
There was a gentle knock on the door. “Sir?”
The Captain froze, terrified.
“Sir? Are you alright in there?”
“Ah. Perfectly fine, thank you, Havers.” He still didn't move.
Long silent seconds ticked by. No footsteps moved away from the door: Havers was still there.
“Are you... are you sure? It's just... if you don't mind my saying, you've been a while.”
It was impolite of him to be hogging Havers' bathroom. He needed to chivvy along and let the man get himself sorted. Still, no matter how much he mentally berated himself he was physically stuck.
He had to work himself out of this mess somehow.
With the intention to grit his teeth and undo the tie normally, he reached up with his painful arm. He hadn't gotten far when another shot of pain made him hiss.
“Sir?”
“Havers, I... I'll be out in a jiffy, I apologise.”
“Are you... hurt?”
Reluctant to admit it, the Captain considered his options.
Denial? No, he was a terrible liar.
Frustration? Kind, patient Havers hardly deserved that.
He landed on curiosity. “Why do you ask?”
“I can hear you hardly moving in there. And when you do, you make this awful noise.”
How humiliating. He hadn't hidden his pain as well as he had hoped. And Havers thought his noises awful. He should have done a better job at sucking it up. There were men out there doing their duty and facing far worse than just a pulled shoulder, after all. What a coward he was.
Havers voice spoke again, very close to the edge of the door. “Might I... open the door?”
Still staring at the mirror as though looking to himself for an answer, the Captain hesitated. He didn't see how else they would get to bed before midnight otherwise.
“Ah. Come,” he relented.
He watched in the mirror as the door opened. Havers' tall form stepped in, already in his pyjamas and looking respectfully down at the floor. He closed the door behind him. “Sir, what have you done?”
They held one another's gaze through the reflection. For Havers to have already changed for bed meant that he had given up waiting, despairing at ever being allowed in the bathroom again.
“I may have- ah, I had an incident earlier and pulled my shoulder...” His cheeks felt hot. This was no fit state for a commanding officer to be in. He should be the model of health for his troop. Should anyone at Command get wind of his unfit state, he was quite sure they would swiftly see him out of his position.
“You poor thing. Are you struggling to move it?”
“It is... posing a challenge. Nothing I can't overcome, I'm sure of it. I'm just contemplating my best angle of attack...”
“Here, might I... might I help you dress?” A pitiful look painted Havers' face. He was probably awfully ashamed of having to help his CO to change as though he was an invalid.
“You really don't have to, Havers, I-”
“I insist.”
The Captain didn't even have time to consider the concept of Havers' hands on him. He merely nodded, and Havers got to work.
With careful fingers, Havers worked loose the tie knot that the Captain had so marvellously ruined. Warmth from his hands radiated to the Captain's chin.
The Captain hardly dared breath.
Laying the tie aside, Havers got to work on the Captain's shirt buttons. The Captain tried not to stare, either at the concentrated expression on Havers' darling face or at his square hands slipping open each button. But he was entranced, hoping he was subtle in how his gaze flicked between the two. Havers was so enchantingly competent. And right now, he was so excruciatingly close.
Fully unbuttoned, Havers peeled the shirt carefully from each of the Captain's shoulders. The Captain held stock still, stricken. He felt quite sure that by moving just a muscle Havers would be scared away and he would never be able to taste this nearness again. After all, the Captain knew he wasn't designed for such things as gentleness, let alone- ahem, love. He would only ever experience this type of attentiveness through the vehicle of someone's duty to him.
Standing in just his vest, the Captain felt daft. He was highly aware of just how the cotton fabric clung to his torso. Along with his hair turning ever more silver, with age he found he was softening around the middle. This was despite rationing and his exercise regime.
Holding the shirt up in both hands, Havers pinched it at the shoulders and folded them inwards elegantly. Having turned it into a neat parcel, he laid it on the side. “Do you wish to wash?”
The Captain considered it. Normally he would, but that was going to prove difficult in his current state. And he would not allow Havers to do that for him. Admittedly, it hadn't been long since he had thoroughly rinsed down after exercising that morning.
“I think that is a little beyond my abilities right now. I feel cleansed still from washing after jerking earlier.”
Havers gave a small smile. His ears raised with the motion. “Then let's get you into your pyjamas.”
Havers peeled the Captain out of his vest with great attention to his pain and respect for where his hands laid. The perfect gentleman. The soft reassurance when the Captain reacted to a twinge and subsequent praise of, “Good job, sir.” did nothing for the Captain's nerves.
Bare on his top half, the Captain now felt entirely exposed. Fortunately, Havers kept his gaze respectfully averted as he folded the Captain's vest.
Taking the opportunity to try and swiftly cover back up before Havers was done, the Captain scrambled for his pyjama top. Keeping his back firmly to Havers, he fumbled with it in front of him. Correct side up, he slipped his good arm with difficulty into the sleeve.
“Do you need a hand with that, sir?” Havers asked, glancing up.
“Ah, a kind offer, however I think I should be...” He reached his other arm around to the other sleeve and winced.
Idiot. He should have begun with the injured side. He moved to slip it off again, shoulder smarting, just as-
“Here.” Havers' voice was gentle as he stepped towards the Captain. “If you'll allow me?”
The Captain nodded.
Havers slipped the shirt back off the Captain. Coming round to his injured side, he trailed it delicately up his arm, then retreated back to help shrug it back on the good side. He was competent in all matters, even those he hadn't been trained for.
Havers' hands tapped gently on the Captain's back. “Turn around for me, sir.”
The Captain obeyed without thinking. He was then met with the sharp reality that Havers was looking down at his chest and abdomen at rather close-quarters.
Havers' deft fingers reached for the top button of the shirt and fastened it. They danced downwards, swiftly putting each button through its hole until he reached the end of the shirt.
“There.” A pinkness rose in Havers' cheeks.
The Captain cleared his throat. “Sorry that you had you- you had to see that, Havers.” He looked away as he made his apology.
“See what, sir?”
Was he being purposely ignorant to be kind?
“My ah- well, my constitution, as it were. I might run the Daily Physical Jerks, but it's no secret that I'm getting old and, well...”
“Not at all. Sir, I find you quite... quite striking. If I may say so, that is...”
The Captain looked from Havers' bashful face to his curled-in shoulders. “Thanks awfully.” Realising it sounded like he was conceitedly accepting the compliment, he clarified, “For helping me, that is.”
“Ah, of course. You would do the same for me.”
It was true. He would have done it for Havers. The Captain, being a pushover, was sure he would do anything for Havers.
The Captain cleared his throat. “I rather think we should get some sleep.”
Havers appeared to shake himself back to reality. “Yes. Yes we should.” He lunged to open the bathroom door. “After you,” he declared and stood back to allow the Captain passage.
The Captain made his way back to his bed and perched on it. He looked to the blanket at the foot. Before he could move any further, Havers was at his side.
“Please, allow me-” Havers said. He picked up the folded blanket and shook it out. He laid it over the Captain, then lingered, fussing with nimble fingers to ensure it was pulled up around him adequately.
Far from feeling like an burden as he had earlier, the Captain instead felt cared for.
“Ah, thank you, Havers.”
Havers swiftly disappeared to brush his teeth, leaving the Captain just enough time to contemplate what had happened, then climbed into his own bed. He clicked off the lamp.
“Goodnight, Havers.”
“Goodnight, sir.”
On opposite sides of their room, they settled into their beds for one final night's sleep. The repair man would be here tomorrow, and all this would be over. Looking at Havers' form propped up in the bed, the Captain tried to soak in every last detail.