Chapter Text
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
The singing was terribly out of tune, something one might hear at the pub after a third round, when the air was thick with smoke and everyone was content. Once he might have smiled, and asked the singer to quite down a bit, or join in with the chorus.
Who’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me?
As he stood at the peek of the hill there wasn’t a reason to smile. There was only the cold steel in his hand and the knowledge that everything was his fault. Alex was dead, and the guilt of it was tearing him apart.
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
He didn’t give a fuck about himself, the metal against his lips was testament to that, but the whole reason he’d come to the island was so no one else had to hear, or see, the aftermath. It would be a day before Wee Jock was taken to TV john, and another before he arrived by boat, to a deserted island.
Only it wasn’t deserted.
Who’ll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?
He found her on the beach, a woman close to Alex in age, but different in every other way. She was short where Alex was tall, her hair a rich brunette rather than blonde, and she barely looked at him as he approached.
"I heard you singing." She wasn’t dressed for the weather. Not someone from around the area, then, not if her posh clothing told an accurate story.
"I’m sorry, it’s a nervous habit of mine."
"Nervous?" He didn’t see a boat, but she seemed to be doing nothing more than standing on the beach and watching the waves.
"I read a book about the second World War, once. There was a chapter about land mines." She looked down at her left foot. He looked too.
"Fuck," he swore.
"So I was right." She staggered, but caught herself. "I was afraid of that."
"How long have you been here." He took a step closer, even when she held up a hand as if to stall him.
"A few hours. Please, you can’t come any closer." Her voice shook. A few hours might not seem much, until you can’t risk moving even an inch. "You need to move back."
"I’m not going anywhere." Her skin was cold, more shock than weather he would guess. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
"If I move…"
"I’m going to stay here and make sure you don’t move." He couldn’t leave her to die alone, not like he’d left Alex alone. "I’m Hamish."
"Belle," she said, stiffening a little as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "I’m Belle."