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The Captain was dying. Strange that it should be here, in Button house, in the English countryside and not in some godforsaken trench overseas – where he had expected his death to occur after the long years of war. But he'd survived that, all of the horrors, shells exploding around him with the deafening noise and devastating destruction of human life. The endless curtain of bullets descending over them, the gas creeping into lungs to suffocate, rain pouring into muddy trenches. Men huddled together, cold, wet, hungry and terrified. He had spent so much time surrounded by the dying and the dead, the screaming and the crying. Proud men reduced to shivering wrecks, blank eyes refusing to see the present, still clutching their guns to their chests but unable to use them now, after everything they've seen. He remembered how he could barely hear himself shout at his men over the shells dropping in no man's land, the enemy attacks mocking him and his men. He tried to lift their spirits, or instil enough anger or civic pride in them to fight on. He wanted to be the Captain to give his men hope and encouragement, he wanted his troops to follow him over the top unquestioningly. His voice failed him when his gaze fell on the worse affected of his troop. What could he say to these broken men? How could he fix this? Words stuck in his throat. They still did sometimes, here in this manor house in a time of peace, he was still surrounded by war. Soldiers with injuries that didn't heal after the smoke cleared from the battlefields, some injuries would never heal. Men changed forever. He was incredibly lucky to be here, alive and back in his home country. He knew so many good men that hadn't been as fortunate.
The war was over for him now and he escaped with a bullet to the knee, trivial compared to some of the injuries he'd seen during his rehabilitation walking around Button House. There were beds set up everywhere, filling the rooms of this impressive manor house. The doctors had encouraged Captain to walk as much as possible now the bullet had been removed, his knee had undergone surgery and weeks of rest. Now his focus was to strengthen his muscles, he walked around the crowded rooms, sickened by the sight of gruesome injuries. The smell of blood and terror hanging thick in the air. The Captain had led so many bright young men away from home, strong, vibrant, smiling. They had their lives ahead of them, they thought they were strong enough to fight Jerry. The war would no doubt be over before long – the might of the Empire was sure to crush German tyranny and they could skip home to their sweethearts, to live out the rest of their days as war heroes. They would wear their medals proudly pinned to their chest, regaling stories of their valour. The reality had been very different, men he had known for years turned blank eyes towards him, no sign of recognition crossing their faces, minds unable to focus, still seeing the image of the trenches in front of their eyes. They lived their lives now as prisoners inside their own heads.
The Captain hated walking through the house, much preferring the fresh air in the grounds, but he forced himself to visit the soldiers he'd led into battle, feeling responsible for them even now. He would check up on the ones who could talk, finding solace in their shared experience, knowing they had escaped from war alive, a privilege denied to so many. He would also look for a particular soldier, secretly but with a fervour that made his heart race as if he were back in the trenches again, there was still a war he was fighting in his mind.
He searched for William, the man he loved, but was not allowed to be in love with. It was a cruel world where his country happily sent him away to kill men on a battlefield but would vilify and imprison him for loving a man. If the authorities were to discover their secret, the ink in the newspapers declaring his heroics would barely have time to dry before they were slipping on the handcuffs and leading him away to a cell. He couldn't fathom the contradiction.
His meeting with William this morning had involved a serious discussion, something William had obviously been planning for a while and Captain wasn't prepared for such drastic measures, the finality of it. William was trying to convince the Captain of their only option out of this situation, how easy it would be, to just swallow a pill. An end to this waking nightmare of a world where they could never be together, never be accepted. William didn't think he'd ever walk again, Captain may never be the same as he was before his operation, the war. They felt like prisoners in a house surrounded by their dying comrades, most of whom would never fully recover from the horrors of the trenches – mentally or physically. The war broke them all one way or another. They were both terrified of their relationship being discovered and the consequences that would undoubtably follow were only a matter of time, in William's eyes there was only one option.
William was frantic with worry and an anxious excitement of making plans, a light dancing in his eyes as he tried to explain to Captain in hurried whispers. William was dead set on this plan, determined, his mind made up – but Captain had doubts. This was too much, too extreme, he couldn't consider William's plan. But he was curious, William had said he'd stored the items in the drawing room for now. He had to look, had to know.
The Captain stood in front of the sideboard, fire cracking in the grate at his back, the heat was stifling in his army uniform but as always he refused to dress down even when in the house. His uniform was who he was, his mark of rank, it set him apart from the rest. He had earned the right to wear this uniform and stood proud every day knowing he was part of something bigger than himself. He was one of the hundreds of thousands of men fighting for his country and it's independence against the tyranny of Jerry. He must keep up appearances even here, away from the battlefield, to show his men the strength of the army. Even though good, brave men have died, the army would always stand firm. The sacrifices he asked his men to make were for the greater good, yes - some of them would die. But it would be so many others could live, future generations would look back on this war with gratitude, in awe of the soldiers who fought bravely for their freedom. That was the official line from the army he felt he must reiterate, but after seeing war for himself, he wasn't so sure he could support it now, war didn't feel inspiring or patriotic when shells were exploding around him. Screaming. Blood. Torn off limbs. Broken men. That didn't feel heroic, that felt like a senseless waste of life.
Despite the Captain's training to always stand firm in the face of any adversity, he felt his bravery slipping away now, he would rather be facing Jerry. He felt much more at home standing on a battlefield, gun in hand, shoulder to shoulder with his troops. Camaradarie, strength in numbers. It was easier in the trenches, he knew for certain Jerry wanted to kill him and it was only a matter of outsmarting and outgunning them to keep him and his men alive. But back in good old England it was a different matter, the men who shook his hand and proclaimed him a hero with wide smiles were also the ones amassing a task force to arrest and imprison him. His prowess on the battlefield counted for nothing here, now it was all about punishing him for who he held hands with. But he could no more stop loving William than stop breathing, this wasn't a choice. He had tried, so many times, he had tried, but after years of confusion and anguish he could not bring himself to love a woman, it wasn't who he was. He could not apologise for something he could not control. He could not apologise for something that brought him so much happiness, made him feel complete at last, healed the broken pieces of himself that had been torn apart by war.
Now he was home, his life would be smiling for the cameras and the newspaper reporters one moment then his fingerprints and mugshot taken the next. He couldn't go to prison. He couldn't bare it. The shame of being a successful military commander, surviving a war, for it to end like this.
But this? Was this really the answer? William thought it was. The Captain slowly pulled open the draw and regarded the contents, his gaze skimmed over the pistol, not wanting to consider it.
Captain felt a cold shiver run down his spine, as though a draught had stirred up behind him, a faint whisper in his ear, an impossibly gentle touch on his shoulder and a word in his ear, “don't do this.” He spun around, but there was no-one there, of course, just the ghosts of this old house, all of it's history gathering around him, all of the men who had died here. Guns had claimed the lives of so many men in this house, unsurprisingly, weapons were banned on the grounds. He considered some of the men he would attempt to talk to on his daily rounds of the wards here, the way they would react to a sudden loud noise in another room that would be enough to send them into hysterics. Their minds acting out a bombing raid in the trenches, fingers clasped around an invisible gun, it's all they knew now. It would be beyond cruel to allow these men to see this gun in the house. In the grand scheme of things, Captain knew the punishment for possessing this would be much easier than for his sexuality, he didn't care if he was caught with this but he couldn't help wondering how William had smuggled it in.
William had mentioned it was loaded and ready to fire, to take a life. He took a deep breath, he had hoped never to see another gun, much less have to fire one. William had suggested a way out for them both, a way they could be together, as they never could be in life. On their own terms. He had been so desperate this morning for Captain to agree to his plan. It had felt so wrong for that conversation to be taking place in amongst the blossoming roses in the beautiful garden. A place of peace and tranquility while William suggested something so violent. Of course, the Captain had refused to entertain the pistol idea, there was no way – especially as a soldier – he could pull a trigger on himself or the man he loved.
He took out the snuff box next to the gun. The small metal tin inconspicuous, but not to the Captain – he knew what it contained. He carefully unscrewed the lid, with shaking hands and looked inside. He was expecting to feel a rising tide of dread as he saw the contents, deadly pills William had described. He wasn't prepared for the panic the empty tin would stir in him, what had been contained within was bad enough, but this was much, much worse.
He threw the empty tin down onto the sideboard as he turned and sprinted through the house, realising immediately what must have happened. This afternoon he had been feeling his heart rate fluctuate, he was hot, itchy, a headache blossomed behind his eyes, Captain attributed this to the worry of William's plan this morning. The conversation with William had been...troubling. It came out of nowhere, suddenly the man he loved was talking about poisons for a peaceful death, how easy it was to conceal it in food or drink. To truly be the master of one's own destiny, having ultimate control over their own lives was how William presented this. The Captain knew nothing would change for people like them unless someone stood up and fought for their right to love. He was a fighting man, he fought for his country and although he wasn't prepared to publicly fight for his right to love, he wasn't ready to give up on life either.
The Captain was panting with the effort of running through the house in full uniform and grimacing with the pain in his knee from excessive use. He stopped in the doorway of the library, smoothing down his uniform and tucking his swagger stick in its usual position under his arm. He took a deep breath before he stepped into the room. The Captain cleared his throat to announce his presence to the man leaning against the glass at the window seat, staring out across the grounds. The Captain's heart beating out a military tattoo in preparation for the conversation that was about to unfold.
The man turned and smiled weakly at the Captain, seemingly distracted he gave a sloppy salute, “oh Captain, my Captain.” He murmured.
“William, enough of this silliness...We need to talk.”
“So serious as always Captain, come and sit with me awhile, let us enjoy the view together.”
“William...” Captain stepped forward. He refused to sit, standing proudly instead, pushing out his chest to show his war medals to their full effect, hoping to fall back on his prestigious rank to give him the confidence to say what needed to be said.
“I have been considering your...proposal...from this morning...”
William turned his body away from the window, to give Captain his undivided attention, becoming more animated, hope written across his features.
“...And?”
The Captain regarded the man on the window seat, bathed in the afternoon sun filtering through the window, he was beautiful. He was everything the Captain had dreamed about but he knew this couldn't last. The Captain took a deep breath before speaking again, determined not to allow his fear to show on his face, he must 'keep a stiff upper lip', cliches his race - his class - were famous for. Traditions must be upheld, even in these uncertain times.
“I had considered the matter and reached a decision, but I wanted to...check...I looked in the draw, took out the snuff box...”
William's eager gaze fell from the Captain to the floor, dismayed.
“The box was empty, William...please say you came to your senses and threw out the offending objects contained within?”
The Captain's tone was gentle, he silently cursed his lack of resolve, instead intending his words to be stern, a warning to bring William back to his senses.
“I can't tell you what you want to hear, Captain.”
The Captain was forced to step forward to hear William's murmured dissent.
“William!” The Captain was suddenly angry, realisation finally taking hold, the gravity of the situation crashing down on him. “What have you done?”
William looked up at the Captain, his voice cracking with emotion. “I knew you would be like this...”
“How the bally hell do you expect me to react?” The Captain, fought – and failed - to keep his voice even. “This is madness, William! Madness! I won't have any part in this! When we fought together...we fought to end the killing, no man should have the right to take away the life of another. After everything we've seen...everything we've been through together...how can you do this?”
William was crestfallen as the Captain fought to regain control over his anger as he finally sat next to his lover, when he spoke again it was in a voice much quieter and more controlled.
“I can't do that. I won't. I'm sorry...I love you, but this is...too much.” Captain reached for his partner's hand as William pulled away.
“I thought you might say that, I knew, deep down, you wouldn't want to go through with this. That's why...I had to...I fixed it for both of us.”
“What...?”
“Your tea...the tin in the draw was empty because I used it this morning. There was enough for a couple of doses for both of us. I took mine all at once, but I split yours into the two cups of tea I brought you today...Please don't be angry...I had to...We can be together forever now. They can't tear us apart...we won't go to prison now...I did this for us, because I love you so much.”
The Captain stared, mouth agape, lost for words.
William smiled weakly with a dreamy expresssion “it's all sorted my love, it's over now, you don't need to worry...about anything...ever again.”
The Captain felt dizzy, nauseous, he felt heat rise up to his collar, constricting around his throat, cutting off circulation, his fingers and toes tingling.
“How did you even get hold of poison?” The Captain fought the confusion and the headache, desperately trying to make sense of this. He felt if he could keep William talking he could find a way back, a solution to prevent what was now inevitable. When William had suggested a suicide pact for them both this morning the Captain had dismissed it as nonsense. Of course they couldn't consider taking their own lives, it was preposterous. If only he'd taken William more seriously when he had the chance. If he had suspected how badly his lover wanted this, a way out, he could have done...something, to prevent this. If only he had more time.
William seemed unfazed at their imminent demise, as though they were discussing breakfast.
“Oh, you know what they say, where there's a Will, there's a way...” He tapped the side of his nose and grinned at his pun, “I researched this, I wanted a poison that wouldn't cause us pain. I don't want you to suffer my love...This way, we'll just go to sleep...nice and peaceful.”
The Captain was horrified, how could William do this? How could he be so calm? He hated William for this. But he loved him with all of his heart. Maybe it was the poison taking effect but the Captain felt his anger slipping away into blissful numbness, struggling to focus on William as he spoke again.
“I was always sure about you and I'm sure I don't want to live in this world without you. Know that I loved you in life and I'll love you in death. Whatever the law says, they can't take away our love. I love you so much...my Captain.”
William gazed at the Captain. He had followed the superior officer away to foreign lands, into war, through the trenches, over the top. He would follow his Captain to the ends of the Earth, into the depths of Hell itself. They had survived war side by side, and now they were to die here, in this tranquil country house on this beautiful estate in their own country in a time of peace. Just a few miles away from where they were raised, where they had lived their lives before the horror of war ripped away their safe, bright futures. Button house felt like another world, one where time looped and reality distorted, Britain may be at peace now, but the war raged on within these walls, men here still fought an invisible enemy, they always would – there was only one way out. William regretted nothing, he reached out and wrapped his arms around his Captain.
The Captain struggled against the fog swirling in his brain, falling in front of his eyes, he was being carried away, disappearing into darkness. His vision blurred, he could swear he saw figures standing before them, a motley crew of people in strange dress, but he no longer possessed the strength to worry about this strange vision, or fight the darkness that was washing over him. He felt incredibly tired now and he barely heard William speak as he closed his eyes for the final time.
“It won't be long now.”