Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There are three things you need to know before you read this.

One, you never call Margaret Brodatt by her full first name. Ever.

Two, it’s difficult to put out kerosene fires.

Three, I did not die.

I’m sure you have questions. I’m not so sure I have the answers (or, at least, the honest answers). The war has been long, and messy, and I wish I could tell you we all came out heroes. Everything shook out in the end, like dust beaten out of an old carpet. Some dust remains to bother you as soon as you get the carpet back inside, but most of it flies off into the wind to quickly be forgotten about. I’m fuzzy on the details of the end of the war myself. Time passes strangely when you’re that stressed and sure; isolated and together; afraid and brave all at the same time. A walking contradiction trying to keep yourself and loved ones safe. Sand in one half of an hourglass and molasses in the other, too fast and too slow all at once. You reach out at the vague notion of peace and hope it works out somehow.

Whatever we did worked, to some extent. Somewhere in the mess someone found a victory we could keep. It’ll never be over, the fight to win a better, functional world. I can only hope I’ll do enough so that the next generation has an easier time than we did. And if I didn’t, well, that may just be the dust left on the carpet. You’ll get it out eventually with a lot of hard work and elbow grease as my Maddie likes to say.

She’s not the same girl she was before the war. I’m not either though. We’re both broken, bruised, and scarred from our time in the war. Her ears ring when it’s otherwise silent in a room. I can’t be alone in a dark room without panicking. Both of us startle easy at loud noises, echoes of the war rattling around in our heads. Our broken bits fit together in their own broken way. I had to pause just now to try to put words to all the emotions between us, but I have decided to keep that to myself. Loose lips sink ships and all, and some things don’t need to be said out loud for them to be true. It’s a little bit like being in love, discovering your best friend, and it is being in love when it’s us out in our garden.

Us, out in our garden, after the war. I never thought I’d get that. Never thought I’d get it and get to keep it. But, dear reader, the getting and keeping of my happy ever after is a story for another time. For now, know three things and know them well.

Never call Margaret Brodatt by her full first name.

It is difficult (but not impossible) to put out kerosene fires.

I did not die.

Chapter Text

I had this grand plan, you see, for introducing myself back into Maddie’s life. What actually happened was that I knocked on her front door, and no one answered.

“What now?” Jamie asked, leaning against the house with his hands in his pockets.

“We wait,” I said firmly. I didn’t know what to do then - in all truth, my grand plan had been to knock on Maddie’s door, sweep her off her feet, and ride off into our well-deserved happily ever after. Fate, the cruel bitch, had other plans for me.

“How long do we wait?” Jamie asked, some hours later. We were sitting on the front steps of the house in slight disarray. He had taken off his suit jacket and hat by this point. I had kicked off my shoes and looked at my stockinged feet.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. We’d arrived shortly after noon and it was nearing supper time. I wanted to see my Maddie more than anything, and the time just kept dragging on and on. I’d last seen her on the night she killed me.

Well. Tried to.

Because I didn’t die. I thought I did, laying in that blasted clearing with a bullet lodged in my arm. You see, my darling Maddie actually shot me, but she missed anything majorly vital. Her second shot killed the man behind me. I remember a sense of glowing pride for her and growing concern for myself as the sounds of fighting moved away before I had the strength to shout. I don’t remember much after that. I have the foggiest memory of a French farmhouse, a grandmotherly lady who patched up my wounds and washed my hair, a man with a bushy mustache who promised he’d get me back to England. I spent months in a hospital on the coast under a fake name before making my way to Aberdeen and Castle Craig. Mother had kept my window open, just in case her lost girl flew home.

“I’d bet the garden door is unlocked,” I said.

“Julie, no,” Jamie said, even though he started to follow me to the garden gate.

“I think yes, actually, brother-dear,” I said. The garden gate was unlatched, which I took as a good sign. The Brodatt family victory garden was in full bloom. Among the vegetable plants, there was a small potted rose bush next to a sturdy-looking bench. A small scrap of fabric tied to a stick was stuck in the dirt. When I looked closer I realized it was the embroidered Lion Rampant she’d made for me a birthday or two ago.

“She wrote, not too long ago, telling me she’d made a little remembrance spot for you in her garden,” Jamie explained when he saw me staring at the potted plant.

“Is this a good idea?” I asked. My nerve was starting to fail me. I needed to see my Maddie. The question was, of course, whether or not she’d want to see me.

“She loved you a year ago, and she still loves you now, Jules. Besides, what’s your backup plan? Write a letter? Hello, love, I’m not dead?” Jamie asked, like he thought he was a true comedian. I informed him he wasn’t nearly as funny as he thought he was. Three pairs of garden wellies sat by the door, lined up neatly. Last time I’d been here, Maddie had let me borrow hers while she wore her grandad’s. It had been pouring rain that day, and rainwater had collected around my toes in the too-big boots. I shook off the memory and put my hand on the doorknob. Sure enough, the door was unlocked and swung open.

“I knew it,” I said, victorious as usual, and walked into the kitchen.

“I’ll be damned,” Jamie muttered as he followed me in. The kitchen and sitting room were empty and tidy, as expected, and we found ourselves standing in the front hall. Maddie’s flight bag sat by the door, her raincoat hung on a hook above it. It was so strange to see, how her life had both gone on and stayed the same without me around. How this little house was still her guiding light home.

The grandfather clock in the sitting room struck five thirty.

“She should be back soon,” I said. Now that I was in the house, having effectively broken in and technically still dead in the eyes of the Brodatts, I was starting to get nervous. At least I knew the Brodatts still lived here, and we hadn’t just broken into a stranger’s home. What if Maddie was away on a flight? What if her grandparents came home and kicked us out for playing a cruel joke?

What if Maddie turned me away?

“That clock might be fast,” Jamie reasoned, checking his watch. I knew the clock was right on time. Maddie herself wound it every morning.

“Maybe we should try again tomorrow,” I said. Before Jamie could respond, we heard a key in the lock. Now, dear reader, I wish I could tell you that one of us had the grand idea to slip back out the garden door, walk around the front of the house, and knock on the front door in order to not look like criminals who had broken and entered. That would have been the smart thing to do, something that, you would think, this ex-spy would think of in the moment. However, both of us froze at the sound of the key. One of three people were going to walk through that door, and I prayed with everything in me that it would be Maddie.

She, at least, might understand, why two idiot Scots had broken into her house.

The door opened and it was my Maddie standing there. She blinked once, shocked, when she saw the two people standing in her front hallway.

“Hello, darling,” I said weakly. She took one hesitant step toward me, tears in her eyes. She raised one hand and gently touched my cheek. The light touch seemed to verify to her that I was indeed real and was indeed standing in her front hallway. Maddie let out a single sob and wrapped her arms tight around my shoulders. It was a hug by basic definition of the word, but it felt like more than that. She clung to me like I was a lifeline. The force with which she embraced me sent my hat tumbling from my head. Every inch of her shook as I wrapped my arms around her waist and held on just as tight. I buried my face into her shoulder and breathed in the smell of motor oil and rosewater that clung to her. Her breath came shaky and fast like she was trying not to cry.

“I’m here, darling,” I whispered. That seemed to be all she needed to hear. Maddie burst into full-body sobs as she held me. I began to sway us back and forth a little, steadily murmuring soothing nonsense. I don’t know how long we stood there, all wrapped up in each other. I had missed her so much it was like a physical ache in my chest. Having her in my arms again soothed any pain I might have felt during our time apart. After some time, she pulled away enough to rest her forehead on mine. One of her hands cupped the back of my head, as if to keep me there with her. How to tell her I never wanted to be away from her side ever again?

“How are you here?” she whispered, voice all hoarse from crying.

“It’s a long story,” I said sheepishly.

“I killed you,” she said. The hand at the back of my head tightened its hold.

“You missed,” I said. She looked horrified, like in not killing me she had condemned me to more torture and suffering when in reality, she’d given me back a chance at freedom I thought I’d lost.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as fresh tears rolled down her face.

“I’m not. Death sounds bloody uncomfortable.” She wrapped me up in her arms again, holding tighter than before. She still shook like a leaf.

“Don’t even joke,” she said sternly through her tears.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, taking my turn to apologize. Tears of my own formed in my eyes and I hid my face in her shoulder again. If this little house was her safe port in a storm, she was mine. I’d missed her with every fibre of my being. Being in her arms felt safe, like hiding under a blanket during a storm. Maddie pressed a firm kiss against the side of my head.

“You’re really here,” she murmured.

“I won’t leave you again,” I promised.

“I won’t let you,” she promised right back.

When Maddie’s grandparents returned home from the market, they found Maddie, Jamie, and I in the sitting room catching up with a pot of tea, some of the good biscuits, and a small flask of strong Scottish whiskey between the three of us. They were overjoyed to see me. None of the waterworks like with Maddie, but I did catch her granddad looking a little misty around the edges. No-one mentioned the hold Maddie kept on some part of me; my hand more often than not, but also the hem of my skirt, my elbow, a hesitant hand on my back, her foot touching mine under the dinner table.

Dinner was a happy little affair. Maddie’s grandparents took a liking to Jamie, as most people do when they first meet him. No one asked how I’d managed to get out of France alive.

After dinner, Maddie took my hand and led me out into the garden. The sky was still light even though it was late evening by this point. We sat on the small stone bench next to the rose bush. There was distant birdsong somewhere in the neighborhood. A mother down the road yelled for her children to come to supper. Laughter came from the open kitchen window where Jamie was helping with the washing up. I wanted to enjoy the moment with her, but there was a year’s worth of being apart to talk about. So much had happened since I jumped out of her plane, stuck in the climb.

She looked different. A little older, a little sadder, no less beautiful. Her hair was shorter, and there was a thin white scar on her left cheek. Her hand over mine was still the same though. She was still my darling Maddie, but there was so much about me that had changed. I didn’t want to leave so much unspoken between us.

“Do you want to know how I got out of France?” I asked, quiet, hesitant. She’d looked a little wobbly at different points during dinner. She took in a shaking breath and grabbed my hand in both of hers.

“No.” Her answer surprised me. “At least, not right now. I just...” she trailed off, staring at our hands, searching for something. “You’re real, right?”

Oh.

“I’m real,” I promised.

“Are you?” she questioned again, turning my hand over in hers. “I’ve had dreams like this, Julie. You’re never there in the morning,” she admitted.

“My darling, I’ll stay here, as long as you’ll let me. You matter to me, Maddie Brodatt,” I said.

“I’m here now.”

There would be time to explain what had happened between now and when we had last seen each other. Not everything had to be aired out tonight. We had time. I put my head on her shoulder.

“We should watch the sunset,” I said after a long, peaceful moment of silence. The sunset was hours off still, but Maddie let out an amused little breath.

“I’d like that,” she whispered and squeezed the hand she still held.

The story of how I got out of France and back to her side could be a story for another time.

Chapter Text

The end of the war came in a series of events that felt like falling off a bicycle and getting back on, over and over and over again until the newspapers reported it was all finally over. Over in Europe at least. But still, something was better than nothing, and I didn’t mind having something to celebrate.

Maddie wasn’t with me when we got news the war ended. In fact, I didn’t see her until a whole week had passed since the official end of the war. The last several months of the war had separated us again. I’d gone back to Scotland to help my mother with the wild Glasgewian boys while Maddie was sent all over the country after broken planes.

The S.O.E. had asked me back upon my not-death, and I did briefly consider it. Ultimately, I had decided to remain a civilian. A girl only had so much luck in her; I figured it best to save what little I had left for the future. Maddie would never say it, but I think she was relieved I decided not to go back. Oramie haunts both of us in different ways. Neither of us is a stranger to lonely, sleepless nights.

I’d settled into a routine of helping out as much as I could around the castle and the nearby village. Mary Kinnaird was happy to have my help with the community programs she’d been running out of the library. I missed the excitement of being on the front lines, but I found the home front to be its own adventure. But now the war was over, and we were all left a little listless and deeply exhausted in its wake.

“There’s to be a party in Aberdeen in two week’s time,” Mother said over the late breakfast she was taking with Maddie and I. The end of the war saw Maddie close enough to Scotland that the next logical move for her was to come to Castle Craig. We were more than happy to receive her; the Glasgewian hellions adored her, and I think that Mother was happy to have another girl in the house. Especially if there was to be a party.

“Who’s all going?” I asked as I swiped the last biscuit from the tray. I broke it in half and gave the larger half to Maddie.

“I don’t know,” Mother said. “It seems as if the Spats are organizing it.” She handed the invitation to me.

“Oh, grand.” I deadpanned. “Hazel.”

“Who’s Hazel?” Maddie asked as she looked longingly at the empty tea pot. The poor dear had been run ragged in the last couple months of the war. She was still exhausted even though she’d been at the castle for a week now.

“An acquaintance from school. Despite that, we should go,” I said as I handed the invitation back to Mother.

“We?” Maddie asked. “Bad idea, that. No, someone has to stay here with the boys.”

“We’ll make Jamie do it,” I said. “Darling, it’ll be fun.”

“Nothing ever good happens when you say ‘it’ll be fun’,” she said. Whereas that statement was likely factually correct, I still gathered up enough indignation to huff dramatically. Maddie and Mother gave me similarly unimpressed looks.

“Please, Maddie. For me?” I wasn’t above whining about it. She gave me another look. I waited with bated breath.

“I have nothing to wear,” she said, and I knew I’d won.

“We’ll find you something,” I said airily, already thinking of where to take her for a proper gown. She sighed in the general direction of the tea pot.

The night of the party was clear and almost unseasonably warm for spring in Scotland. Everyone who was remotely anyone in Aberdeen high society was already at the grandest hotel in the city by the time the Beaufort-Stuart clan showed up. One could call us fashionably late, but when dealing with a family as large as mine it’s usually a miracle we get anywhere at all.

I would also call it a miracle I was able to convince Maddie to wear a genuine couture gown, even if there was considerable bribery, minor arguing, and a stern phone call from Gran Brodatt involved. It was a hand-me-down in basic terms, if one could call a Vionnet a hand-me-down. She’d never see it in herself, but Maddie looked stunning. The high neckline brought attention to her lovely face. The champagne colored satin reflected the gold of the lights and made her freckles stand out.

The real allure of the gown was that it was almost entirely backless.

“You keep looking at me,” Maddie said after she’d caught me staring for the tenth time. We were sitting at one of the tables on the periphery of the dance floor. We’d each had a dance with all my brothers and my father. I think Maddie, despite herself, was having a good time.

“I quite like looking at you,” I said. She blushed but still gave me a look like she knew I was up to something. “You also have a stray piece of hair.” I reached up to brush the wayward curl away from her eyes. I stayed to linger with my hand by her face because I could. There was no one around to see. Despite the bustle of the party, it was peaceful in our little corner.

Until it wasn’t.

“Julia!” Someone crowed from not too far away.

“Oh no,” I muttered as I spotted Hazel Spats coming towards us. She hadn’t changed since finishing school, her piggish sort of face squished into something that could be called a smile, if one was being generous.

“Julia Beaufort-Stuart, I can’t believe it’s you!” Hazel cooed like we were the greatest of friends. She leaned in and kissed both my cheeks. She wore far too much perfume. “I heard a rumor you were dead!”

“Be careful what you believe,” I said. “Rumors are often false.”

“Shame,” Hazel said with a sharp sort of smile that said she wouldn’t have mourned forever had I been dead. She took a seat on my other side and across from Maddie. “And who are you?”

“Maddie Brodatt,” Maddie said, and held her hand out. Hazel very gingerly took it for the briefest second before letting go with a cringe.

“Charmed.” It was clear she wasn’t. “Are you two... together?”

“We’ve been friends since the beginning of the war,” Maddie said, which was true, but a shade of the truth. It clearly wasn’t enough of an answer for Hazel. Awkward silence descended from on high. I looked around the room, searching for any sort of excuse to leave. I saw Jamie standing by the wall a little ways away talking to two of his friends. I stared until he noticed I was staring.

“Help,” I mouthed, making a small gesture towards Hazel. Jamie nodded. A moment later, he and his friends asked us ladies to dance.

The look Jamie shot me as he led Hazel to the dance floor let me know I very much owed him a favor after this. I enjoyed my dance with Jamie’s friend but politely excused myself from another dance.
I ran into Jamie at the bar. An empty scotch glass sat at his elbow and the bartender was handing him another.

“Enjoy your dance, brother-dear?” I asked, knowing very well he didn’t. He gave me a baleful look over his glass.

“Heinous girl,” he muttered. “I left her at our table with Maddie.”

“You left Maddie alone with her?” I asked. At my question, Jamie seemed to have realized what he’d done and drank the rest of his scotch instead of answering. I rolled my eyes at him and left the bar. Another full song had played by the time I got back to the table. Hazel and Maddie were standing on opposite sides of it. Hazel seemed to be talking. I positioned myself far enough away to not be immediately seen, but close enough to overhear.

“I know you two are together,” Hazel said. “I’m like you. I won’t tell.” The first bit was true enough, but I didn’t believe the second part of her statement. I couldn’t see Maddie’s face from where I was standing, but I could read her mood from the tension in her shoulders.

“Julie is my closest friend,” Maddie said. Again, true, but not the whole truth. Hazel knew it. She noticed me standing there.

“You know, she isn’t all that she says she is,” Hazel sneered. “She’s hardly an angel.” There was a certain irony in Hazel, who knew nothing, trying to reveal all the skeletons in my closet to Maddie, who knew everything.

“She’s still the best person I know, whatever she’s done,” Maddie, the darling, said. Hazel scoffed.

Maddie, I noticed, was tapping out S.O.S. on the side of her leg. It was a nervous habit she’d developed during the war. But a distress signal was a distress signal, so I walked up to the table and pretended to reach for my glass of water. My elbow just happened to knock into the glass oil lamp in the centerpiece. I wasn’t expecting it to go up in flames so quickly. The smell of kerosene hit me a second later. I froze for the briefest of seconds, which allowed for Maddie to grab the pitcher of water from the table and throw it on the fire. The lovely floral centerpiece was now a scorched, droopy bunch of twigs. There was an outraged noise, similar to the whistling of a boiling tea-kettle, from the other side of the table. Hazel had been caught in the crossfire and was almost as drenched as the flowers.

“Heathens!” she screeched and, with another distressed tea-kettle noise, stomped off. Maddie and I stood there frozen for a moment before she grabbed my arm and dragged us both outside to the garden balcony. We exchanged one look before dissolving into giggles. We held on to each other while we laughed, keeping each other upright.

“Julie, love, what in the world?” Maddie asked through her laughter. In the shadows on the balcony she pulled me close with her arm around my waist. She brought her other hand up to cup my cheek. My hands landed on her bare back.

“She was bothering you,” I said, like that could explain away some minor arson.

“You’re insane,” she said. There was no bite to her words as she leaned in close to kiss me somewhat senseless. We stood there wrapped up in each other for long minutes before surfacing to the sounds of a slow waltz coming from the ballroom.

“Dance with me, darling,” I begged. Maddie gave me a fond, soft sort of look before starting to sway us gently back and forth. I leaned my head on her shoulder as we moved. A part of me wished we could be open with our affection, but this quiet moment between the two of us was just as perfect.

I realized in that moment I wanted the rest of my life to be spent at her side. I’d always treated that like a given, but nearly dying in France and being separated from each other for so long had taken its toll on us.

Run away with me, I almost said.

“We should buy a house together,” I said instead, like that was more reasonable. I picked my head up and looked at her. She didn’t look remotely frazzled by what I’d said. She looked calm and content with the same soft look she’d had on her face before we started dancing.

“Alright,” Maddie said. “Somewhere in between Stockport and Scotland.”

“Sounds brilliant to me,” I said and laid my head back on her shoulder. The band inside switched songs but we stayed in the shadows, gently swaying.

“What exactly happened between you and Hazel?” Maddie asked after several peaceful moments. I groaned.

“Story for another time, love.”

Chapter Text

We wound up finding a tiny cottage in the Lake District with a small parcel of land attached to it. There was just enough land for a sizable garden and a small garage set a little ways from the house. We didn’t know if we would stay there forever, but it was a soft place to land for now. It was comfortably close to Maddie’s grandparents and to where Jamie had settled down in Glasgow. Close enough to go if needed, but far away enough to stay if not. We were comfortable, happy. More at peace than we’d been in years. It was like finally resting after a long journey.

We’d been there about three months, just long enough to see a peaceful summer pass into a cozy autumn, when I decided that Maddie deserved some symbol of my undying love and affection. Men could give their sweethearts pretty gold rings, and maybe I couldn’t do that, but there had to be something. I would propose in whatever way I could. But what could I give her though?

Time passed, and we slipped deeper and deeper into autumn. It was too late in the season to plant a garden when we moved in, but we’d prepared the land for winter with the hope of growing in the spring. We had time now to think about gardens and building a home and being with each other. That has been my favorite part, I think. Just being. We’d spent so much time going and moving, and so little time really living. But we had time now to be, to grow.

I realized there wasn’t going to be some perfect moment to ask her to stay and be mine, nor did I need some bauble to prove my feelings. Maddie had always accepted me as I was, as I presented myself to her. She knew every piece of me, as I knew her in return. There was no need to prove anything, but I still had to ask.

It was a peaceful Sunday afternoon when I finally gathered my courage. I found Maddie in the kitchen, washing the dishes from our late lunch. She had turned the radio on and was humming along to whatever song was playing. Golden sunlight was coming through the window above the sink, casting her in soft, almost angelic light. I was reminded of the dance we shared in Aberdeen months ago, and of that moment in the Brodatt family garden after I’d come back to her. I was reminded of that brief and beautiful moment in which the sky turned green and filled me with a sense of wonder. She noticed my arrival to our little kitchen and gave me a soft smile. It was the soft, fuzzy sort of smile she reserves for beloved things like warm socks in the winter, fresh cups of tea, and me.

Yes, this was the right decision. She was my everything. So why was I more nervous now than I had been in front of a literal firing squad?

“Maddie,” I started. I received nothing more than a vaguely interested hum for my troubles.

“Margaret,” I tried again.

“I’m doing the dishes now, love. No need to be snippy,” she said. She nonchalantly put a plate on the drying rack.

“Margaret Brodatt.” At this she froze. “I have something I need to say and that you need to hear.” She turned off the faucet but didn’t turn to look at me.

“If you’re going to end things, I’ll ask you to be a bit nicer about it,” she said.

“What?!” My voice rattled out of me like I was a particularly shrill whistling tea kettle. “No, darling, no.” I grabbed her hands where they rested on the countertop. “How could you think that?”

“You never use my given name. We’ve known each other for half a decade, and you’ve never used my full name like that. So either someone’s died or you’re ending things,” she explained.

“Darling, does it have to be so doom and gloom?” I asked with a half-hearted laugh. She glared at me. The effect was somewhat diminished by the tears in her eyes.

“Darling,” she parroted, “we’ve just been through a war. My default is doom and gloom. Please, just tell me what you’re trying to say.”

“Maddie,” I started again. “Margaret-”

“Stop calling me that,” she said, tightening her grip around my hands.

“Maddie.” Third time’s the charm. “I can’t propose to you. Not in the traditional sense. I can’t give you a wedding or a diamond ring or some official license that says you’re mine and I’m yours. Be mine, darling, because I’m yours, and I can’t imagine life any other way.” I stared at her face. She had that same wounded but deeply hopeful look on her face that I remembered from that summer night in Stockport when I came back to her.

“You scared me that badly to propose?” she whispered.

“Yes?” I tentatively ventured. Maddie pulled her hands away from mine and turned the faucet back on and put her hands in the soapy water still in the sink. A moment passed. She looked out the window. I looked at her.

“Oh, you idiot,” she muttered. Seemingly in one motion, she turned the faucet off again and grabbed me by the waist. I wound up sitting on the kitchen counter, gasping into a fierce kiss with Maddie’s hands leaving warm, sudsy trails up my thighs.

“Is that a yes?” I asked breathlessly. Maddie pressed insistent kisses along my cheek and jaw. Her hands, warm and solid and under my skirt, held my hips.

“Yes,” she promised and drew me back in for another mind-numbing kiss. I arched into the kiss, into her hands on my hips, into her mouth on mine. She broke the kiss to smile wickedly at me. Clever fingers teased at the hem of my knickers.

Well, dear reader, what happened next is a story for another time.