Chapter Text
December 1917 – Somewhere in Malta
Maurice was sitting alone at a table in the nurses’ common room, his hands around a warm cup of tea. Christmas was approaching, but he felt as far from the desired Christmas spirit as it could be. For one thing, winter in Malta didn’t feel real: it was too warm and mild. Then they were too often separate, working on different shifts and, most important, on different kinds of work. Alec assisted surgeries almost every other day and worked mostly in intensive care and post-surgery wards, while Maurice worked in physiotherapy. So, although they shared quarters, they sometimes wouldn’t see each other for days, or would only meet briefly for tea breaks.
Maurice’s plan to make them much more valuable out of the Army than in had worked beautifully. It wasn’t common to have young men wanting to train as nurses but it wasn’t unheard of either. After all it was War work as well, and the nursing corps could use a few male nurses where physical strength was needed. Since the first week of their training, where everyone knew them as brothers, it had been obvious that brothers they might be, but they were as different from each other as two men could. Both were clever and willing, both had a natural talent for nursing work but where Alec was gentle, supporting and all practical, Maurice was blunt, hardworking, and inventive.
Still, that day his shift had just ended and, for some lucky chance Alec’s shift was about to end as well, and they had arranged to meet in the common room to walk home together. The hospital had rented a couple of rooms in a nearby house («You see, boys, I cannot put you in the girls’ sleeping quarters…», Matron had told to the four young men under her supervision). The place belonged to a young couple with two small boys and another child on the way. The husband was serving in the Navy and the young woman had welcomed the chance of having paying guests, saying that as she was on her fourth month of pregnancy, a house full of nurses might just come in handy.
- Maurice?
He almost jumped. He had been so deeply lost in thoughts he hadn’t seen Alec approaching, a big smile on his face.
- Sorry, I was thinking…
- About…?
- Oh, you know, this and that…
Out in the street there was a light wind and the last rays of a winter sunny day were still enough to warm them a bit.
- You’ve been a bit glum lately, haven’t you? – Alec asked.
- It’s the War. One cannot see a light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. Even here, all we see is wounded soldiers arriving, as if there was an endless supply of men to go and get themselves blown to bits. – he stopped at a sheltered corner to light a cigarette – Today we had a new patient in physio, a young chap who’s had his right hand in plaster for a month and a half and now can hardly hold anything. He’ll have to work hard to regain his hand’s finer functions, to do such simple things as button his shirt, hold a pencil, use a spoon or a knife… He spent a whole hour trying, just trying, to flex his fingers, one at a time. The therapy is so painful he had tears in his eyes.
Alec dealt with a good deal of horror in his work, assisting complicated surgeries, dealing with terrible wounds and quite a few deaths, but Maurice had no easier task, since he dealt with the consequences of the wounds – men who had to relearn actions they had taken for granted all their adult lives, like walking or using a spoon or a pencil.
- I know. It’s hard, isn’t it? But we must remember we are doing our best and the War will have to end someday…
They passed a small niche with a Nativity scene. It was usually closed but it was close to Christmas and it was now open, lit with candles and lavishly decorated with fresh flowers and green boughs. The clay figurines were no bigger than a hand, the Holy Family surrounded by shepherds bringing gifts, and the Three Wise Men far in the background, descending from the mountains riding horses or camels.
- The other thing is I miss home – Maurice went on as they walked.
- Home?
- Not Alfriston Gardens, mind you. I miss our life before the War, us being together most of the time.
- Well, I miss that too, but one must live with what one’s got, right? And make the best of the actual situation… For the time being, Giovanna’s place is our home, and we manage to spend an evening or a morning together now and then. We’re still better than most.
Giovanna, their young landlady, had a delicious tuna casserole for dinner, a most noisy and animated meal, with the two little boys demanding dinner time stories, something that both Maurice and Alec were glad to supply. That night Maurice told them the tale of the Three Little Pigs complete with different voices, background noises made by Alec and the terrifying sound of the wolf blowing away the stick and straw houses provided by James, the youngest of the other two male nurses who had the second rented room. Three-year-old Angelo and two-year-old Mario listened to the tale completely enraptured, as their mother deftly spooned the soup into their opened mouths.
There were Christmas decorations around the dining room, golden paper stars and angels, and a small Christmas tree, not an actual tree as there are precious few trees in Malta, but a rosemary bush in a clay pot, fresh, plump, and fragrant, decorated as a Christmas tree, with red and golden glass baules and paper garlands, a golden paper star at the top. The kids had told the guests how, on Christmas night, Father Christmas would leave each of them a present by the tree, Angelo doing most of the talk and Mario babbling a few words in between.
At eight o’clock, when the children’s bedtime arrived, Angelo demanded that Maurice was the one to put them to bed.
- Don’t be silly, Angelo. Maurice is our guest.
- It’s alright, Giovanna, I’ll put the little mites to bed. I kind of enjoy it. You rest a bit, you've been on your feet all afternoon. Come on, boys…
Alec closed the little procession. Together they helped the kids out of their day clothes and into their pyjamas, supervised and helped with the face washing and the teeth brushing, listened very seriously to the night prayers, and tucked them in their beds, carefully pulling up their blankets. Both little boys fell asleep almost instantly.
- Thank you, Maurice, but you mustn’t give in to all their little whims, or they’ll get completely spoiled, with Salvatore away and a group of men ready to wait on them hand and foot – said Giovanna when they returned to the dining room – Oh, and by the way, boys, I put an extra blanket on each of your beds. I know, I know, winter here isn’t a real winter, but it is still rather cold, and I don’t want you coming down with anything or Matron will have my head on a plate.
Later that night, as they were retiring to sleep, Alec asked, after having studied Maurice for a while:
- You’d like to have kids, wouldn’t you? You really are wonderful with kids, you know? There’s no doubt in my mind you would make a wonderful father.
Maurice answered at once, no hesitation, as if the subject were one he had lengthily thought about, which it was, and had the answer ready, which he had. He had actually given the subject a good deal of consideration and phrased the answer in his mind over and over more than once.
- I do believe children are a great source of joy, and yes, I would like to have children. Had my life taken a different path and children might have turned out to be my only real joy. But, and of this I am certain, I would never trade you and our life together for a wife and children.
Hearing him say those words, sounding so precise, Alec felt there could be no better Christmas present than such a declaration.