Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was dark, and the captain walked alone. It was how he liked it. The dark always gave a different perspective to everything, he thought, some things were concealed in the shadows, while new things awoke. He wasn't usually a poetic man, but occasionally the moon would be full and the usual anxiety would settle a little. A little.

This was one of those nights, and although it was turning winter, the captain had begun to make a habit out of these nightly wandles, enjoying the small time away from the other men. They were good men, but often a little immature for their age, fancying themselves brave heros for the ladies in the neighbouring village. He chuckled softly to himself when he remembered Tom's conversation with the newsagent's girl yesterday, telling stories about ships and submarines, until Havers had come and pointed out that he had been seasick on the first rowing exercise they did on the lake. The girl had laughed, and given Tom a rhubarb and custard. Havers was good like that, never hurting anyone, just giving them a quick blast of reality. It's why he and the captain had always got on so well.

"it's a little chilly tonight, sir," a soft voice spoke up behind him, making him jump slightly, "sorry, sir, didn't mean to start you."
"no, no, Havers, it's quite alright, i was just thinking." he looked down at the younger man, or what he could see of him in the moonlight, and smiled. He sensed, more than saw, Havers smile back at him.
"thinking about anything in particular, sir, or just contemplating our place in the universe?"

The captain let out a surprised bark of laughter, which resulted in another smile from Havers. That was another thing he admired about Havers, his sense of humour; often a bit dry but welcoming all the same.
"i suppose our place in the universe factors into it," he said in a more serious, thoughtful tone, "if you must know, i was thinking about France."
It had been on his mind for a couple of days now, trickling into his everyday thoughts. He didn't like the feeling he got when he thought of it. Like a hand squeezing his heart. But what he hated most was how he was reacting. He was supposed to be a role model for God's sake, a leader, but underneath all he was was a coward. Is that not the entire reason he was here at Button House, instead of in the front lines, shooting at the enemy and keeping the country safe? And now Germany had got France, what was there to stop them invading Britain? He could feel the panic rising up in him, his thoughts getting faster and his throat going dry. Bloody coward. The French are the ones who he should feel scared for, not himself.

A soft touch interrupted his train of thought. Havers' hand resting lightly on his arm, grounding him. No longer captain and lieutenant, but friends. The dark does that, the captain mused to himself, boundaries are less stable.
"france will be fine. Britain will be fine. You will be fine."
"But you can't say that for sure. I mean France is bigger than here, if they failed to keep the Jerrys out how do we stand a chance?"
The hand on his arm was firmer now,
"France was different. We learn from how they failed. Plus, we have something they don't." he said with a smug smile.
The captain looked at him puzzled for a moment.
"you." he stated simply.

At that the captain chuckled.
"you won't get a promotion just by buttering me up, Havers." he warned, but his tone of voice made it clear that he was joking.
"Guess I'll just have to try harder then, sir." he teased back, and for a moment the Captain saw the moon reflect in Havers eyes the same happiness he felt when talking to him. He looked away. Coward. He cleared his throat awkwardly. The hand was removed from his arm. A small feeling of disappointment appeared, yelling "hello! I'm a missed opportunity!" but the captain shot it down immediately. It was late, and he was tired.

The captain turned to Havers to speak, but stopped still. The light from the moon highlighted his smile as he gazed up at it, and his eyes sparkled. His hair was combed back, neat and presentable and smooth, and his skin was white. Delicate. Perfect, like the marble statue in the garden . The dark cast shadows upon his profile and he looked beautiful.

No. Men were not beautiful. Havers suddenly turned and met his eyes. The night was suddenly a lot warmer.
“Well, if it’s all the same to you sir, i'm going to head off. Early start and all that.” Havers flashed him a smile.
The Captain nodded, taking a moment to find his voice.
“Yes, quite, i think i shall follow you in a moment, just a little more thinking to do.”
Havers smiled and turned, disappearing in the dark, and then only the captain remained, hands in pockets to keep them warm. A feeling remained in his stomach like a small wriggling worm, and he didn't like it one bit. It felt exciting but scary, like a risk. It was wrong. In the dark the faint sound of the distant church clock sounded 12. The captain turned on his heels and followed Havers footsteps inside.

Chapter Text

A soft touch interrupted his train of thought. Havers' hand resting on his arm, grounding him. The captain looked down at its owner, and smiled. They were in the garden together and the warm sun was glistening down on them. The two men made eye contact, comfortable and at peace.
As one, they turned to gaze at the statue, a centre piece in the quiet space they shared.
The captain chuckles softly, remembering his earlier comparison and looks back at Havers.
"What's so amusing?" Havers asks, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Why, I was just thinking of how beautiful you were last night." The captain replies.
His face pales as he realises the words he has just spoken, dread like a heavy weight in his stomach.
Havers smiles.
"Strange. I was thinking just the same." He tilts his head towards the captain's, a half smile on his lips.
The captain freezes in shock, but nevertheless finds himself leaning in.
Their noses touch and-

The captain bolts upright in bed, face flushed and heart pounding.
What in the world was he thinking?
For two men to-?
He couldn’t even finish the thought.
“Get it together, Archie,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Men did not belong together.
Coupling between men was present among the soldiers, but resulted in severe punishment.
“And rightly so,” the Captain said, “I must be stressed.”
He pondered for a moment.
“Yes, stress. I’m sure that’s the cause of this folly. I should take a holiday.”
The captain forced a laugh.
But what if-?
Shame enveloped him as he lost himself to a tide of fantasies and uncertainties.

He was quickly brought back to reality as the sound of the other men made its way underneath the door.
“Bloody nincompoops.”
He quickly got dressed into his usual attire, all neatly pressed and spotless, polished his badges, and combed his hair back into its usual form. Even if the others were acting like children, he wouldn’t forget there was a war on. All set, he headed down the stairs for a light breakfast and then the usual morning run.

In the kitchen he met Havers.
“A bowl of nutritional deliciousness for you, sir?” he said, over-enthusiastically holding out a bowl of weetabix.
“Why, thank you, lieutenant,” the Captain replied in the same jovial tone of voice, “I am so glad you saved me this lovely haven of vitamins!”
“Well I couldn’t let my own captain waste away on me now, could I?”
Their eyes met briefly. Havers looked away; he’d said too much. The captain gave him a slightly awkward smile, cleared his throat, and walked stiffly over to the table where a group of lads were playing hangman. His Weetabix suddenly seemed a lot less appetizing than usual. The same feeling of anxiety that he’d felt earlier came back. This was wrong. His thoughts were beginning to affect how well they worked together, and he couldn’t let that happen. His work was his life. He wouldn’t throw that away just because of some silly dream.
And with that final thought, he finished his breakfast, and swiftly went for his morning run.

Running had always helped him keep calm, ever since he was a young boy, he would go out down the lane where he lived and just run until he got to the other farm, about 5 miles away. It helped clear his mind, just focusing on the feel of the reliable earth beneath, and the rhythm of his breathing.
In. Out. In. Out.
The same pattern, over and over, until that was all he could hear.
Today was no different. He took his usual path, down the lane, past the front gates and around the woods. Stepping into the crisp air, he took a deep breath, and started running. He always timed himself, pushing himself to the limits, all of his thoughts focusing on getting to one place. Last week his time was 2minutes 45, yesterday it was 2minutes 39. Today he could make it quicker: 2 minutes 36.

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“Attention!”
A series of boots clacked their heels together.
“At ease,” the captain said, marching in front of a line of restless recruits.
“Today will be your first day holding a Webley. I expect sensibility and order. These are real weapons,” the Captain announced, handing out the guns to each pair of weathered hands. “They do not contain live ammunition, but you have not been given the order to fire, and so i expect you to not do so.”
After a lengthy instruction of how to take apart, reload and fire The Webley (the standard revolver given to recruits), the soldiers were left to practice on their own whilst the captain sought out live ammunition from the shed on the other side of the garden.
He pulled open the rusted door and stepped inside.
The captain then began to walk amongst the shelves to find the correct ammunition, when the door groaned, slamming shut and blocking out the midday sun.
A dim light flickered on from above and the sound of footsteps on the floor grew increasingly louder.
The captain tensed, hand resting on the butt of the gun strapped to his back.
He waited anxiously for the intruder to reveal themselves, sinking into a cold focus.
Havers stepped around the corner.
“Oh. Havers,” the captain cleared his throat and relaxed, “it’s you.”
Havers smiles.
“Ys, sir. I thought you might like some help. I helped to reorganize the shelves here a few nights ago and assumed that whatever you’re looking or will no longer be in the same position as before.”
He trailed a finger along the nearest box, and grimaced at the thick layer of dust that came off of it.
“It seems that the movement hasn't helped to clean anything though,” Havers chuckled.
“Indeed.”
“What are you looking for? I might remember where it was placed.”
“Oh, I’m looking for some ammunition for The Webley Revolver for the recruits to use.”
“The Webley?” Havers looked thoughtful. “I haven't used an actual gun in years.”
“Would you- would you like to try out this one?” The captain offered the gun on his back.
Havers, though surprised, accepted the gun, holding it reverently in his hands, the wooden stock smooth and polished.
“Am I holding it right?” Havers asked, decidedly not holding the gun correctly.
The captain raised an eyebrow.
“First of all, you have to relax your shoulder. And this should be held in your hand, like so,” the captain directed Havers’ hands into position, covering them with his own.
“And to see where you aim…” The captain leaned in closer to look down the barrel.
Warm breath tickled his cheek, and he became aware of the very little distance between himself and Havers.
His breathing caught.
The captain flushed red and jerked backwards.
“And, er, that’s how, how it’s done,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact with Havrs.
“Uh, thank you, sir.” Havers handed back the gun.
The captain strapped the gun to his back, turning abruptly.
“Wait, I'll fetch you the ammo,” Havers said.
Together, they located the bullets and hauled them out into the daylight.
Outside, they stood awkwardly opposite each other,
“Well, I’d best get off to the other men.”
Havers smiled shyly at him, “yes sir, teach the boys how to defend Britain should Jerry ever get here.”
And with that, he turned on his heel, and walked back into the house.

Chapter Text

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Yes, goodbye sir.” The Captain placed the phone back onto its cradle.
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, massaging his temples. He had phoned his Superior officer to update him on all of the work they were doing at the house, but these phone calls often ended in a severe lecture about what was happening in France, and how to command a troupe of soldiers. As if he didn’t know. The Captain didn’t have his title for nothing.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter!”
The Captain rose from his seat as the door opened.
“I thought you might like some food, sir. I grabbed you a serving before it vanished,” Havers said with a wink, placing a steaming bowl of franks and beans and a dented can of fruit on the desk.
“Oh, er, thank you, lieutenant,” The Captain cleared his throat and self-consciously adjusted his collar, “please, have a seat Havers.”
“Thank you, sir.” Havers replied, pulling out the chair on the other side of his desk. He watched the Captain intently for a few minutes as he wolfed down his meal. The Captain was too hungry to notice the soft brown eyes following him.
“So,” he said after finishing his meal, “anything you wanted to discuss with me Havers? How is your mother?”
If Havers was surprised by the suggestion of the topic he didn’t show it, only smiled at the man opposite as he leaned back.
“She is well, sir, thank you.”
“She misses you much, I suppose. I know I would,” the Captain paused as he realised what he had said, “well, er, what I mean is that it must be hard, what, without a man about the house.” He sat up straighter and awkwardly cleared his throat, fussing with some papers on his desk.
Why did he always act like this around his Lieutenant?
His said Lieutenant just smirked at his obvious discomfort and leaned forward.
“Well, between you and me, sir, I believe she just misses having someone to complain about. I am sure she is quite capable of looking after herself.”
The Captain laughed at that,
“Yes, well, I reckon you are better off here then.”
After a few moments of silence, both men wanting to continue the conversation but neither knowing what to say, Havers got up to leave.
“Thank you for that, Havers, I didn't realise what the time was.”
“We can’t have you dying on the job now, can we Sir, not before we’ve had a pop at Jerry together, at least.”
“Yes, quite.”
They stood in silence some more, looking around the tiny office.
“Sir, your, uh-” Havers stepped forward, “Let me just, uh-”
The Captain peered at him in confusion. Havers moved closer, slightly hesitant at first, and looked into his eyes. He raised his eyebrow in question, and the Captain gave a small nod, staring at the wall behind Havers.
He brought his hands up to the Captain’s collar and very gently rested them on his tie. He was so near. The captain could feel his heat, could smell his cologne, and it made him feel lightheaded. He licked his lips, Havers’ gaze following his tongue.
They were so close.
“There, you go.” Havers whispered softly, and glanced up at the same time the Captain had looked down to thank him.
Their faces drew nearer, when suddenly a loud clap of lightning startled them both.
The Captain jumped away from Havers, smoothing down his already perfect hair and chuckling awkwardly.
“British weather, ey?”
Their eyes met before darting away again.
The Captain turned a faint shade of pink.
Seeing this, Havers smirked.
“Do I make you nervous, sir?”
“Yes. No. What?” The Captain flustered.
Havers chuckled.
“Right. I’ll be off now, sir. Enjoy your meal,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of the desk.
“Of course. Thank you again. I’ll, er, see you at the briefing tomorrow.”
“Certainly, sir.” Havers clasped the Captain’s outstretched hand, a twinkle in his eye.
Though expected, the Captain was surprised at the roughness of Havers’ hand.
Their callouses brushed against each other in the warm, firm grip.
The Captain was suddenly reminded of what almost happened moments before and flushed a deeper red.
“You’ve been blushing a lot this evening, sir,” Havers murmured, leaning closer.
“Ah, it must be the heat. It’s quite humid today, what with the-” The Captain paused, Havers’ face mere inches from his own.
Their mingling breaths filled the Captain with a strong desire, the likes of which he had never felt before.
Havers cupped the Captain’s cheek with his other hand, pulling him closer.
His pulse raced, his chin angled slightly downwards.
The Captain’s eyelids fluttered shut as their noses touched.
A knock at the door shocked them into separation.
They both neatened their uniform, putting a respectable distance between them.
“Enter!” The Captain calls, voice trembling.
“Captain, I’m here to deliver a message,” said the interruption - a young man dressed in the standard attire for a new recruit.
“Right,” the Captain glanced at Havers, “I’ll see you tomorrow, lieutenant.”
Havers nodded, saluted, and exited the room, throwing a wink over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.
The captain remained in place for a moment, savouring the lingering tendrils of warmth that Havers left behind, before turning to the awaiting recruit.

Chapter Text

The familiar clamour of the canteen at breakfast kept the Captain alert as he shovelled spoonfuls of porridge into his mouth, swallowing it quickly to avoid the taste.
The warm, grey sludge rested heavily upon his tongue as a sudden recollection of the night before distracted him. The memory of him.
As he felt his face heat with embarrassment, the captain cleared his throat, almost choking on the gruel.
His appetite vanished.
Picking up his bowl and spoon, the captain stood up and prepared to leave-
And walked straight into Havers.

“Captain,” Havers smiled warmly, inclining his head.
“Ah, Havers.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the captain avoiding eye contact and Havers desperately trying to read what’s going through his superior’s mind.

“Right, well, I’d best be going now. Lots to do,” The Captain chuckled awkwardly, tucking his thumbs into his pockets.
“Of course, sir,” Havers smiled tightly, “but, perhaps we can meet later? I have some news to share?”
Surprised, the captain nodded.
“Here at dinner, then?”
Giving another nod in agreement, the captain walked away, shoulders hunched and tense.

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At exactly 1800 hours, Havers leaned against a wall in the canteen, eating an apple.

He could scarcely hear the crunch of each bite over the din of the ravenous soldiers.
Observing people was almost a hobby of his. Havers could easily watch over a crowd for long periods of time, amusing himself by noting the body language of each participant in a conversation. He often would make up backgrounds for the more noticeable characters, creating dramatic scenarios in his head from the clues he obtained in viewing the individuals.

For instance, he currently had his eye on a broad-shouldered young man chatting with one of the female servers. Havers imagined the man to be self-assured in his charms, and the server to be completely disinterested - this much he could say for sure by noting the woman’s defensively crossed arms and restless feet as she inches slowly away from the soldier.

After a moment or two of debating whether to step in and distract the man whilst the woman made her escape, Havers watched in amusement as the server walked away from the disappointed soldier, who promptly hung his head with shame.Twenty minutes later, and Havers had moved from his position against the wall to a seat on a vacant table.

Disappointment tugged at his heart as he watched the canteen’s occupants dwindle down from many, to just him and the staff.
At 1900 hours, the lights were shut off and he was left in the dark.
It was at this moment that Havers’ heart truly sank. And he knew.
The captain was not coming.

At precisely 1800 hours, the captain sat at his desk with his head in his hands.
The grand clock in his office ticked steadily, counting the seconds that the captain continued to fill by wallowing in his shame.
He was a mess.
Top button undone, tie skewiff, and one shoe lace untied.
Disgraceful.
The captain glanced down at his disorganised attire and sighed in disgust.
He was losing it. All because of one person. And a man at that.
He sighed again, this time in despair.
The captain took a sip of his tea, grateful for this one small comfort he could have every day.

He leaned back in his chair, looking to the ceiling as though he could find the solutions to his problems in the rafters.
The pile of failed plans and various strategies sat on his desk, the shadow it casted seemingly growing larger by the day. The captain glanced at it, shoulders drooping.

This war occupied enough of his mind that he didn’t need anything else adding to it.
So he reluctantly resolved to put all of this business to do with Havers to the back of his mind, leaving it as something to think about once the war had been one.
And yet, despite deciding to forget about the awkward situation, the captain still felt as though there was something important he had to do. Something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on…

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The door slammed open.
The captain, who had fallen asleep at his desk, attempted to get to his feet.
His battle with gravity failed him, however, and that is how he found himself crumpled on the floor and trying to avoid breathing in the dust.

Trying to smooth out his uniform, the captain righted himself and turned to greet the visitor.
“H-Havers? What brings you here?” The captain stammered in shock, face burning with humiliation.
Havers, eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance, looked at the captain expectantly.

“What is it?”
“I see that you forgot about our arranged meeting last night.”
“Last night? It’s only-” The captain glanced at the clock and froze.
Sunlight and bird song drifted through the partially opened windows, proving the clock to be correct.

“Good heavens. It's morning?” The captain ran a trembling hand through his hair. “But I haven’t-"
He trailed off and began scrambling papers together, stuffing them into a binder crumpled and out of order.
Face softening, Havers stepped forward and took the binder from the captain's hands.

“Gather the papers you need and I’ll organise them.”
Without waiting for the captain's agreement, Havers opened the binder and set the documents aside, before neatly filing them again in an appropriate order.

A short while later, when the captain was in order but still flustered, they each took a seat on opposite sides of the desk.
“Ah yes, what was it that brought you here, lieutenant?” The Captain folded his hands across his stomach.

Havers sat up straighter, looking slightly pale.
I was going to tell you this yesterday, but you didn’t show up, Havers swallowed those words, and instead opened his mouth to say:
“I’ve received new orders.”
The Captain immediately tensed.
“What are they?” He asked, fearing the worst.
“I’m to be transferred, sir. To North Africa.”
The Captain’s stomach dropped through the floor.
“North Africa, you say?” He asked, feeling faint.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” said Havers, “but it’ll be an honour to be able to fight for my country.”
“Of course.”

Havers watched his superior officer with his deep brown eyes, searching for any emotion buried on the captain's stone face.
“Well, good luck to you, lieutenant,” the captain said, “you’ll be missed.”
Havers smiled.

“By that I mean, of course, that the whole team will miss your hard work.”
The smile fell from his face.
“Thank you, sir.”

Havers fought to mask his disappointment.
The captain offered his hand, fighting to hold back the tremors.
Havers accepted the handshake, and the captain savoured the warmth, the sense of right he felt when they were together.
And then he let go.
He watched Havers walk out of the door, returning the brisk nod of respect.
He watched his heart leave.

Chapter Text

Havers finished packing his belongings and sat on his bed.
A yellowed photograph of him and his mother was clutched in his shaking hands.
“I’ll see you again soon, Ma,” Havers promised.
He kissed the picture, before tucking it into his breast pocket.

He stared at the rows of bunks between him and the door, picturing each person the beds belonged to, imagining them all lounging around, jostling one another and being far too loud.

I suppose I’ll actually miss their incessant chatter, Havers thought to himself with a rueful smile.
However, there would be no goodbyes.
They had all gone for their daily laps around the grounds, just as he had planned.
Goodbyes only made everyone involved feel unhappy.
And yet, there was one goodbye that he had hoped for.

No, let’s not think about him right now. He’s made it clear that he isn’t interested.
Havers shook his head, as though the thoughts would fall right out of his head if only he truly wished them to.
“Right,” he slapped his thighs and stood up.
After one last lingering glance around the room, Havers picked up his suitcase and walked out the door.

The captain, once again, sat at his desk with his head in his hands.
His cup of tea sat cold and untouched beside him.
Echoing throughout the near-silent room, the grand clock ticked away, counting every moment since Havers’ departure.
Each tick hammered into his skull, each tock brought forward yet another memory of the time that he spent with Havers.
And the toll of six resonated through his chest, disrupting the fast hammering of his aching heart.

“It’s already time?” The captain asked the silence.
Well, it’s too late now. Even if I wanted to say farewell - which I don’t - it’s too late, mused the captain.
But he couldn’t help glancing out the window, to the end of the gravel drive, where the imposing, wrought iron gates stood guard.
The gates that Havers would pass on his way out, and possibly never return through.

Thoughts raced through his mind, desperate to fight the powerful instinct commanding him to race through the doors that very instant.
It’s madness.
It’s not right.
Saying goodbye would only be harder.
But deep in the recess of his mind uttered a single word: coward.
“I am not a coward.”
The captain pulled on his cap and exited the room.

At this time the halls were empty, so it wasn’t long before the captain had arrived at the door to the room that Havers was staying.
He raised his fist to knock, but hesitated as a wave of nerves washed over him.
No, I’ve waited around for long enough.
The captain steeled himself, knocked on the door, and stepped inside.

It was empty.

Desperation kicked in, and the captain charged over to the small window.
Outside, on the wide, gravel drive, a lone figure strode to the gates.

“Havers! Havers!” The captain pressed his fingers into the glass, but Havers did not turn around.
“Good heavens!” He turned and sprinted out of the room.

At this time, staff had begun to cluster in the walkways, slowing down the captain and furthering his frustration.
"For goodness sake, move!" He growled so suddenly he caused the head cook next to him to clutch her chest.

He didn't care.

He pushed past the clump of people blocking his way. If he didn't make it in time he would never forgive himself. Havers had always been there for him.

Down the stairs.

He was probably already out of the gates, walking alone to the train station, never knowing how much he actually meant to the Captain.

He could see the front door. After he went through it, there would be no turning back. He didn't care. He had nothing planned, no speech, no confession, for God's sake he wasn't even sure what it was he was feeling. All he knew was that he had to see him, even if it was the last time. Even if it meant it would be harder to let go. Even if it killed him.

"Sir, Murray was just messing around with the radio and it just-"

The Captain turned with a furious glint in his eyes and with such force that the young recruit actually stepped back, slamming his mouth shut. The hand around the cane tightened, the knuckles turning white.

"Honestly, Stroud, at this moment in time I couldn't give a flying fuck if Jerry had just invaded, let alone about that bloody radio. Are we clear, Sargent?"

A gulp.

"Yes, sir."

But the Captain had already pelted out of the door.

The cold night air hit the Captain in the chest, tiny droplets of ice running down his face. The moon shone high above, and in the distance he could faintly see the dark figure of his lieutenant.

"Havers! Havers you bloody fool!"

The Captain was getting anxious now. In his head he timed himself; 2 minutes 13 seconds .
He continued running, heart hammering in his chest.
2 minutes 21 seconds.

"William!" His voice trembled.
The figure in front stopped. It turned around.
The Captain stopped running, stood there catching his breath. The figure moved closer.
And then the Captain could make out the perfect outline of Havers, sad eyes looking up at him with confusion.
"2 minutes 30," he wheezed, still out of breath.

"What?"
"That's the fastest I've run."
The shadowed body of Havers let out a light chuckle, his warm breath ghosting the Captain's nose, making him shiver.
"Why?"
The way he said that one word, so devoid of hope, made the Captain speak before he had the chance to think about it.

"Because I love you."

Both men stood shock still, hardly daring to breathe. The Captain felt his face drain, anxiety gnawing in his stomach. But he couldn't take it back. He meant it.
He felt his lieutenant move closer until their noses were almost touching. The captain let out a shaky breath.
"Is that true?" Havers whispered, barely audible above the sound of his heart.
The Captain gave a small nod and, realising that Havers couldn't see him in the dark, breathed out a small "yes" in reply.

He felt a warm hand on his cheek.
"Good," the owner of this hand murmured, so close that he could feel the vibrations on his skin, "because, Archie, I believe I have very much fallen for you too."

At that, they could wait no longer. Lips met blindly, the force of years of desperation pulling them together. William snaked his hand through Archie's hair, pulling the older man nearer as he let out a groan. Remembering he needed oxygen he pulled away, resting his forehead on the other's, both panting for air.
"You have no idea," said Havers with a slight laugh, "how long I have wanted that for."
"Then show me."

This time the Captain was expecting it, a needy mouth on his, hungrily kissing him, and he gave into the control, turning soft like putty. He moaned as William kissed his way down his neck, and whispered hotly into his ear,
"I love you."

The kisses got softer, touches of love and care.
"Do you-" he cleared his throat, "Do you have to go?"
William looked into his eyes, communicating without words.
I love you.
"I'm sorry. I have to go."
The Captain gave a sad smile,
"For king and Country."
"For king and Country."

Archie pulled the smaller man into his arms, grabbing him tighter, not wanting to let go of this beautiful thing he's discovered. He kissed the top of his head.
"Make it worth it. For me, Havers."
"Yes, sir, I promise."

Chapter Text

Dear Archie, 24th July, 1940

I hope this letter finds you well? I have just arrived in North Africa, currently setting up base. The climate here is so different, the days are hot and dry, and the nights are freezing.

Forgive my small talk, Sir, I am unpractised in the art of writing letters, especially to you. I wish you were here with me, or not here, but both of us far away together. Perhaps somewhere less hot.

I have much to write to you about, but I know not where to begin. There is, however, one thing I must say to you:

I miss you.

But we must be careful.
I hope to hear your reply.
All my love,
Yours faithfully,
William Havers

Dear William, 8th August, 1940

Indeed I am well, and I trust that you are too?

The conditions sound unfavourable. However, bear with it and I’m sure you’ll be able to return shortly.
I, too, am unpractised in writing personal letters. The day will come where we will be together again. Just hold on.

We can continue to exchange letters, so you may tell me all that you wish.

And fuck it, I don’t care if we are found out.

I miss you, too.

All my love,
Archie Edwards

My dearest Archie, 9th September, 1940

I have some exciting news! I have been given 3 months of leave starting in 2 months time, in which I hope to journey back to Button Manor. Or at least somewhere near so that we can meet in private. I wish to hold you in my arms once again, as we did that last night. I often think back to the months we had working together, and all of that wasted time. I wish I had acted sooner.

Today we met with some soldiers from all around the world, of us collectively armed against Hitler, however as glorious as it sounds, I don’t believe it is as glamorous as I had first hoped. I long to see you smile again, my love, or even just watch you as you sleep peacefully at your desk after a hard night of work.

Please write back soon,
William x

My beloved William, 18th October, 1940

I look forward to seeing you again, for I have waited three months to see you again.
I often think of all that time that we have missed out on because of my cowardice, but all that matters now is that time that we have now. Starting with these letters, and again in a month when we finally meet again.
I am glad to hear our men are working hard to save us all. Including you.
Your bravery astounds me.
I’ll see it in person, soon.

Yours truly,
Archie
X

My love, 9th November, 1940

In a week's time I shall leave! I cannot tell you how excited I am by the prospect of seeing you again, and I promise you I have planned some truly memorable moments in my mind! I was thinking that perhaps we could rent an old cottage I know of, it stands in the middle of a woods so we would be entirely alone ;)
I apologize if that is going too fast for you, but I wish to hold you as soon as possible, and to be able to gaze at you with all my love in my eyes.
So please, meet me at the train station for when I arrive.
Until then,

William xx

My sweet William, 19th November, 1940

I waited for you but you never arrived. I stayed all day and night, even waited the entire next day, hoping it was just a late train. But I assume that your orders had changed.
Please reply soon, for I am worried.
I understand if your superiors commanded you to stay.
Yet, I still miss you.
If that’s the case then damn them. Damn them all.

Fond regards,
Archie
X

My beloved, 25th December, 1940

Good tidings to you!
I hope that you enjoy the festive season and that you are allowed some respite.

I fear that our letters have been intercepted, for I have not received one from you in over a month now.
I grow ever more worried, but I am sure that it's either the post service to blame, or you have just not had the time.

I hope to hear from you soon, even just a few words to ease my anxiousness.

All my love,
Archie
X

Dear William, 13th January, 1940

I didn’t receive a letter again from you this month.
I miss your letters. I miss the way that I could hear your voice as I read every inked word.
I miss the way that I could feel your warmth through the tone of your writing, and the smell of you left on the papers.
I miss you.

But I am concerned that you no longer feel the same way.
Perhaps this distance has made you realise that you have much more worth than I deserve?
If you are not interested, then please, at least respond and let me know that you are well, and then I will let you go.
If you do not love me.

I will always love you.
Archie
X

The captain stared at the letters in his trembling hands, the pages worn from him rereading them, the ‘Return to sender’ marked on the envelopes. He studied Williams handwriting, fingers carefully tracing each character and swirl. He gently placed them on his desk and fished out an envelope from his draw. Folding each letter with care, he put each of Havers’ notes in his envelope, sealing it. He wrote one word on the front: William.

He poured himself another whiskey, hoping it will stop his hands from shaking and his tears from falling. It didn’t. Taking a deep breath, he hauled himself off his chair and stumbled out of the room.

He didn’t look at the yellow unopened telegram on his shelf.

Chapter Text

The captain stared out the window as he watched the other men play a game of cricket, his heart heavy and eyes unfocused. It had been a week. A week since he had made his way to his lieutenant's mother's place. A week since he was given the telegram. A tiny scrap of paper saying Havers was dead. Killed in action. Another soldier, gone.

The captain didn't cry at first, he didn't fall to his knees and weep, instead he threw himself into more work, planning and running and ordering. It was only when he collapsed into his chair, exhausted, that he allowed himself the privilege to cry. He rested his pounding head on his arms and drifted off to a silent sleep, a feeling of shame constantly resting upon him.

This shame was still in his heart while he watched his men play cricket. It was wrong to love men, and worse to cry over them, and yet he couldn't read his letters with any other feeling than love.

"You're a soppy old fool, Archie," he tutted to himself, dragging his hand across his pale face, “It’s time to man up.”

He took a deep breath in, and then forced it out.
His shoulders drooped, still bearing an unshifting weight.
Heavy was the burden of loss.

Hours passed, but he did not notice them.
Days passed, but he did not count them.
Weeks passed, but he did not feel them.

Since the telegram, the captain didn’t feel much of anything.
He felt empty.
There was a hole where his heart used to be.
Dust gathered where the blood once rushed to his cheeks in the presence of the one who turned his world upside down, and then left it.
His appetite had vanished, leaving him pale and trembling, face gaunt and eyes haunted.
The captain’s hair grew thin and grey, falling out with every sweep of his hand.
His beard was in desperate need for a trim, or to be shaved off altogether.
But he had no energy.
It took all of his will power to make it from the sofa to the chair at his desk in his office.
The remaining dregs of his energy were reserved for staring at nothing, thinking nothing, feeling nothing.

The soldiers used to bring food to him, hot drinks too. They offered him their help, despite being unaware of the captains’ sudden change from overly driven and determined, to wasting away at his desk.
But when they received no answer from their superior made of cold stone, they stopped coming.
They left him to his silence.
To the quiet.

After four weeks of nothing had gone by, the captain received word of the impending ceremony to honour the soldiers who had fought and died in the recent time.

There would be no burials, no bodies to mourn over, nor were the families of the soldiers invited.
This would be a lifeless speech of the glory of laying your life down for an ungrateful country, the inhabitants of which remained completely clueless to the true horror of war, a display of gunfire, and then return to the canteen for a spot of bread pudding.

Completely pointless.

Not honourable at all..

But the captain was required to go.
And so he went.
For William, he repeated in his head.
The mantra fuelled him into pulling on the first clean uniform in two weeks.
He visited the resident barber for a much-needed haircut and shave.
Aside from the hollows beneath his eyes and his chalky complexion, the captain almost looked back to his old, pristine self.
Almost.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The captain stood amongst his fellow soldiers.
He tuned out the drone of a minister, who had been brought for the morning to commemorate the dead and read inspirational passages from the bible to urge the soldiers onwards.

A pool of anger grew in his gut.
The first emotion that he had felt in weeks was a deep and swirling rage, one that he clung to just to feel.
Just to put a stop to the endless fatigue and emptiness.
His hands curled into fists and his breathing quickened.

The captain looked down at his shoes, dull and dusty - he couldn’t quite muster the energy to polish them. They were the shoes of an obedient soldier, a cog in the seamless machine of a brutal war.
But they no longer seemed to fit.

They were too tight.

Suffocating.

And in that moment, the captain could no longer breathe.

Rain fell from the sky in trembling drops as the captain clutched his chest, feeling each powerful hammer of his aching heart.
His skin crawled and his blood boiled.
He was burning from the inside.
His lungs ached and his throat was raw from his silent screams.

The soldiers around the captain shot him confused glances, unsure of whether to intervene.
He knew then that he had to leave, to escape their prying eyes and knowing glares.

They knew.

They must.

They could tell the impure thoughts that he had had. The thoughts that he had had for another man.
They could read the grief written so plainly on his face, the longing for the soldier he was in love with.
His breathing seemed to grow ever faster. The rain fell even heavier.

He had to-

R u n.

Though he could not feel them, the captain’s legs carried him through the gates at the end of the gravel drive.
The gates that he said goodbye to William.
His William.
The gates that the love of his life walked through and never returned.
From then on, the captain viewed them as the gates of death.

The captain ran.
Even as his legs shook beneath him and threatened to give way, he did not stop.
Even as his lungs burned with every strained breath of icy air, he did not stop.

The sky had grown dark and the sun had set long ago.
The stars bore witness to the man’s desperate attempt to escape the feelings within.

He had not felt anything for long enough that he had begun to believe that he would surely never feel again.
But now-
Now all the captain could do was feel.
There were so many emotions swirling inside of him, so many thoughts and so many memories.
A bitter, metallic taste sat on his tongue.
The captain collapsed.
Lying upon the churned and saturated earth, the captain looked up at the stars.
With fistfuls of soil and tears pouring down his cheeks, he screamed.

-----------------------------------------------
A long time had passed.
The captain knew that much, but he wasn't sure just how long it had been
The stars were much brighter than before, and the moon cast it’s feeble light upon the darkness of the forest floor.

A rhythmic cacophony had been playing for a while now, but the captain had only just begun to hear it.

Cold had seeped through his skin and into his bones.

His body felt so heavy.
But also weightless, as though he hadn’t a body at all.

In his mind, a faint voice urged him to get to his feet and move.
If he did not move soon, he would surely never move again.

As tempting as it sounded, the captain did not want to stay on the floor forever.
He had begun to feel his body again, and the aching that came with it.
The captain sat up stiffly, letting out a pained groan.

After a brief period of walking, the captain realised that he wasn’t as far as he thought from the town.
It wasn’t long before his feet hit concrete and he was stumbling past buildings.
The lamps on the street bathed the night in an amber glow, casting eerie shadows around each corner.

The captain was beyond caring, not bothering to be the least bit intimidated as he passed by openings of dark alleys or turned around a sharp corner.

Eventually, he found himself stood in front of a bar.
Warmth spilled from the windows, shut against the cold, and the sound of cheer hammered into his skull.
Despite the incessant noise, the captain needed something to distract him from his lingering turmoil, and so he pushed open the heavy, red door, and stepped inside.

With his foot barely over the threshold, the captain was hit by a wall of life.
The tables scattered throughout the room were bursting with drunks and gamblers, all shouting over each other to be heard above the din.
The bar itself was overcrowded, but the captain managed to snag a seat close to the door.

A handful of large men leered at the waitresses on a nearby table.
The captain rolled his eyes and faced the overworked bartender, ordering three fingers of whiskey.
The woman raised her eyebrows, but handed him his glass without a word.
He knocked it back in one, suppressing the urge to cough it back up.
Within moments, his head was full of cotton and the room had begun to spin.
The world seemed to dull and the noise wasn’t quite so piercing.
The captain ordered another.

When the world swung momentarily back into view, the captain had his face pressed into the crook of his arm, the scratched surface of the wooden bar was all he could see.

He gradually became aware of his mouth moving, words pouring out of him in a slur and a dampness on his cheeks.
“I love him,” his voice broke on the final word.

The captain glanced up to look at the surprised bartender, her face slightly pale but eyes bright with sympathy.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she said quietly, “but you should really keep your voice down.”
The bartender glanced anxiously to the side of the captain.

He followed her gaze.

His vision swung in and out of focus, but he was able to make out a group of intimidating men glaring with disgust.
“Can I help you, gentleman?” The captain slurred.

“We don’t want your help,” one man sneered, “not from the likes of you, anyway.”
The captain frowned.
He couldn’t quite process what the hick was muttering to him, but it made him angry.

“Excuse me?”
The captain rose from his stool, leaning heavily on the bar.
The group stood up at once, towering over the captain with menace.

One grabbed the captain’s collar, putting his face inches away.
The captain felt vaguely sick as he endured the other man’s hot, disgusting breath fanning across his face.

“Not gonna say anything?” Yellow teeth were bared in a snarl.
Someone spat on the captain’s shoes.
The captain had just enough sense left to deliver a swift jab to the man’s throat, freeing himself, and then turned to sprint out of the door.

As he darted through the streets, the thunderous sound of several pursuers urged him onward.
He was dizzy and unstable, but so were they.

The captain gained an edge when they reached the forest.
Though he stumbled on many roots, he did not fall once.

His legs were weakened but mostly sturdy.
All the while, his pursuers jeered and howled, calling him filthy names that should never be repeated.
Panic drove the captain to a sprint and soon he found himself on a gravel road with the gates of death looming in front of him.

The captain had just passed through the gates when a blow to the back of his knees sent him tumbling to the ground.
He lay there, winded and unable to catch his breath.

The captain managed to roll over onto his back, but that gained him was the view of the silhouettes towering over him.

The gates glinted in the moonlight as though signalling what was about to come.
Blow after blow rained down upon the captain’s body.
He couldn't even raise his arms to cover his head as he was battered and beaten by a torrent of fists and boots.
Pain flooded every fibre of his being and his vision grew hazy.
He heard his ribs crack with the final stomp.

The group of attackers panted in the darkness, glaring at the captain with deep-rooted hatred for a man whose only crime was to fall in love.
After a moment, they turned as one and walked away.

The crunch of gravel beneath their boots was the last sound the captain heard in the silence of the night.

As blood dribbled from his lips, the captain stared up at the stars.
With the final beat of his heart, a face appeared in front of him, blocking out the view.

A beautiful face, one that he had missed so much, for so long.
It’s deep brown eyes were filled with sorrow and love.
Then the world fell away.

Chapter Text

One by one they had started disappearing. The priest had been banishing them for weeks, making sure each individual was taken care of with a proper send off. It was finally his turn. Havers stood up straight in front of the eldery man, a small feeling of anxiety in his stomach. He didn’t know where he would end up, or if he would just cease to exist, but whatever was going to happen would be better than staying.

He was always excited at new possibilities, he supposed that was why himself and The Captain had worked well together; between them they split the enthusiasm and the anxiety.
He sighed.
Archie.
It had been decades since they had parted, decades since that promise, and yet he hadn’t forgotten. He couldn’t forget. That feeling of love, after many stolen glances and fleeting touches they had admitted it to each other. It had been the best moment of his life. It kept his spirits up during his short time on the front line. And it almost killed him again when he felt him die.

But Havers was ready to move on, to go wherever he was going to end up next.
He was pretty certain that staying where he was meant that he would never see Archie again, and so he was willing to take the chance that being banished would bring.

The young girl standing beside the priest looked up at Havers with a reassuring smile.
“You’ll be fine.”
“The ghost is there, then?” The priest asked her.
“Sure is.”
The priest shook his head, his expression twisting in confusion.
“That camel must have kicked you to an inch of your life to make you see ghosts like this!”
The girl laughed, “I know! Right in the face!”
Havers chuckled, puzzled at her amusement.
“Right,” the priest clasped his hands in front of him and rubbed them together, “let’s get this thing started.”
He touched his fingertips to his forehead and began murmuring a chant.
As Havers shifted on his feet, the priest brought his arms down and displayed his palms.
The chant, having grown to a hoarse shout, echoed loudly through the quiet.

An uncomfortable heat grew at Havers’ feet and worked its way through his body.
His vision swam in and out of focus leaving him nauseous and unbalanced.
As the temperature bordered unbearable, a searing pain struck Havers through his chest.
He collapsed to the floor and the world faded to white.

When Havers was brought back into consciousness, he noticed that the dry heat and bright sun had been replaced by cool rain and a blanket of grey clouds.

The world spun around as he tried to sit up and gather his bearings. Self consciously he smoothed his hair, and squinted around his surroundings. He definitely wasn’t in North Africa anymore. And then he saw something he thought he’d never see again; Button House.

He sat still for 5 minutes, just taking it all in. He had been transported here. To Button House. Not to his mothers home, or to heaven, or to any other place. Just here. Clumsily, he got to his feet, swaying slightly as the world tilted and walked cautiously towards it.
As he got to the front, he looked up, and he smiled.
Through the top window he could see people: a young lady with extravagant hair who was smiling and giggling towards a smaller man with just a big of a smile. Next to them lounged a blond chap who looked suspiciously like a Tory, who was waving his hands in an attempt to engage the others. And stood between the three of them was Archie, straight backed and stick in hand.
Havers paused below, wanting to take this moment to appreciate his lover's profile.
Would things still be the same between them?
It had been years, but Havers feelings were just as strong. He wasn’t even sure if this was actually happening, or whether the others would be able to see him.
Taking a quick breath to steady his nerves, he walked in through the door.

It was weird being back. Things were the same, and yet were significantly older. The wallpaper was faded and peeling at the edges, some of the curtains had been replaced, and the energy was a lot more still. No soldiers running about the place.

He made his way cautiously up the stairs, hesitating at the top. He chewed his bottom lip, and walked across the landing, coming to a stop as he heard the voices coming from the room next to him.

“I’m telling you, there is no way he’ll go for it, that’s not his style. I’ll tell you what his style is though, I once went with him to a “teamwork resort” and let's just say we learnt a lot about working together.”
“That's not the point, mate, I mean look at you, you were allowed to do it. Wouldn’t say that was your style either.”
“Now listen here you lot, there is no point discussing it now, is there? I have had enough of your incessant squabbling for a lifetime. So if you don’t mind, I am going to do some important work.”

Havers couldn’t help but move towards the sound. He hadn’t heard that voice in over 70 years. He started running, and charged through the closed door, stopping metres away from the older man. The room fell silent.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The captain stared in shock.
He was pretty certain that he looked like a gaping fish, but he couldn't quite compose himself.
The two men stood facing each other in silence, feeling as though they were the only ones in the room, like the last two people on earth.
Havers was the first to move.

“Archie.”

One look into those deep brown eyes-
One look at that soft, warm smile-
The captain fell to his knees.
And then, William was there, his arms around him, holding together the pieces that took decades to put back together, but came fracturing apart within a moment.
Both their cheeks were damp with tears as they pressed their foreheads together.

“Archie.”
Havers murmured his name, repeating it like a prayer.
“William-” the captain choked, his throat thick with emotion, “How? How are you here? You-you were gone.”
“I know. I know I was. But I was banished by a priest from where I died. I thought I would disappear forever, but then I woke up here. With you.”
“I missed you. So much. When I stopped receiving your letters, I got so worried. And then the telegram came-” The captain broke off with a sob.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Havers pulled him closer, “I felt you die, you know.”
The captain pulled back in surprise.
Havers nodded.
“It was the worst thing that I have ever felt. Worse than dying,” he exhaled shakily, “One moment I was fine, and then… It was like my heart was cleaved in two. Like something deep inside of me broke, and I’d never be able to fix it again. The only thing that kept me from complete despair was the hope that one day, I’d be able to see you again.”
“I felt the same way, when I got the telegram. I didn’t think I'd ever see you again. I had no hope. But at least I had these annoying twats to keep me going,” the captain looked up, as though suddenly remembering the audience watching them.

“So who’s this, then?” Pat asked, raising his eyebrows.
Fanny shushed him and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Do you two know each other?” Kitty clapped her hands and squealed in delight, “The captain’s prince has found him. I wonder where mine has got to?”
As Kitty pondered, Robin started to herd the group towards the door.
“Ah, I think, er, we should, er, give privacy,” he said, waving his arms to urge the ghosts on.
As they left the room, each one giving a curious glance over their shoulder, the captain and his lieutenant held each other.

“Those idiots sure took their time to leave,” Archie chuckled.
He looked at William and almost started crying again.
“I can’t believe that you’re really here.”
“Neither can I.”
William rested his hand upon the cheek of the man he loved, and sighed with content.