Chapter Text
The Captain was tired.
Admittedly, this was true more often than not these days. Twenty-plus years serving in Her Majesty’s armed forces, countless campaigns and tours, the rank of Captain and on the cusp of advancing to Major, then one stupid training accident (involving a muddy field, a tank and a rather idiotic young Private whom he could hardly fathom how he had gotten through basic training) and a touch of inherited arthritis meant an honourable discharge and a nice watch. His mess uniform hung, unworn for months, in the closet. His medals took pride of place on the desk next to the old military maps of World War Two campaigns. Awards, achievements and pictures detailing an illustrious career decorated the flat. It didn’t change the fact that the majority of the time, the Captain could hardly face getting out of bed, let alone leaving the flat.
The problem was, there was nothing to do. After all, there’s only so many times a man can stroll the length of an admittedly small apartment, “inspecting” every surface and corner for even a speck of dust before he feels that he is going slightly mad. Alison, the young woman who lived just below him, had suggested to him that he get a pet, perhaps a dog? He had briefly considered it, before remembering how the K-9 units used to worry him so and deciding it was a bally awful idea.
“I’m just worried about him,” he had heard Alison fret to husband Mike just the other evening. The building he lived in was unconventional to say the least: an old Tudor manor, it had been converted into self-contained luxury living (in reality a nice room, an en-suite and a mini kitchenette hardly suited to boiling an egg) with shared social spaces and kitchen. It’s fair to say that the Captain had not read the brochure nor the contract fully before signing his lease. “He sits holed up in this house day after day with nobody except us lot to talk to, it can’t be good for him.”
By “us lot”, Alison was of course referring to the inhabitants of Button House Apartments. A rather eclectic bunch, the Captain couldn’t help but think of them as his rag-taggle regiment of sorts. There were Alison and Michael Cooper, who had moved when her long-lost aunt died and left her a substantial inheritance. Thomas Thorne, a part-term bookseller, full-time trust fund baby and terrible poet. Pat Butcher, the local scout master and banker who had moved in upon the discovery of his (ex) wife’s affair with his best friend and who receives visits from his lovely young son Daley every weekend and second Thursday. Julian Fawcett, MP, who, whilst being awful when he moved in, has calmed down in recent years and really is trying his hardest not to be an entirely terrible person. Fanny Button, a distant relative of Alison’s with a face that constantly holds the expression that one is sucking on a lemon. Robin Arche, the astrophysicist who tends not to talk much and can beat anybody in the house at chess. Mary Brand, a quiet young lady with a mysterious and traumatic past. Humphrey Bone, who… well, nobody knows too much about Humphrey, except that he may be on the run due to some shady dealings done by a French ex-girlfriend. And finally Kitty Devreaux, a naive and yet thoroughly pleasant young lady with a vile family whom the Captain had taken somewhat under his wing. Yes, he was fairly sure that covered it. Oh, and there was a rather large family who lived in the basement and everybody else thought best to ignore. Yes, that was everybody.
On this particular Thursday (a second Thursday, meaning that the main sitting area was sure to soon be overrun by an excitable seven-year-old by 1700 hours, most inconvenient when World War Two: In Colour was due on) the Captain awoke late. He performed his stretches (aching), did a few laps around the perimeter of the house (aching), nodded awkwardly at Kitty as he watched her make her way to the bus stop to head off to university (aching a little less) and returned to his room to prepare for the day (pain flaring all over, especially in his blasted back and knee). By the time he was ready his knee was screaming bally murder, so he gave in and slipped on the brace the army physiotherapist had given him, ensuring that it was hidden by his smart pressed trousers. Popping a couple of ibuprofen into his mouth and stifling a quiet groan as he put his hand to his lower back, he grabbed his newspaper and headed off downstairs.
Julian and Robin were already there when he arrived and stiffly took up residence in the fireside armchair, flicking open his paper with a small sniff. Julian was studying the board carefully, whilst Robin had a smirk on his face.
“Now, see here—!” Julian started hotly. Robin laughed, shaking his head.
“No way out! You lose!”
“Dammit, you’re right,” Julian grumbled. He reached down, gently knocking down his queen. “Any chance of a rematch?”
Robin snorted and shook his head again. The Captain heard Julian mumble something under his breath, but elected to ignore it in favour of reading the newspaper. Unfortunately this soon became impossible when Julian’s unmistakable hand covered his page and he was forced to look up.
“G- ah, Good Lord, Julian! Trousers, man!”
“Who cares?” Julian chortled, planting his hands on his hips as the Captain spluttered out complaints and shielded his eyes with his hand. Admittedly he was in a ridiculous outfit—a full suit on top, argyle socks, sock suspenders and perfectly polished Oxfords—but he personally thought it worth it for the reward of watching the Captain have an aneurysm right in front of him.
“ I care!”
“I told you, all you have to do to stop me is tell me your name!”
“No! You will not exploit my personal information with such blatant blackmail as that!”
“Julian, remember, trousers in communal areas,” Alison’s voice called from the kitchen. Both men looked over, and sure enough she was gesturing to the laminated sign stuck to the fridge which read, in large Comic Sans font, Trousers in the communal areas, Julian!. The sign also contained information for “fun” nights planned for the house and the reminder that somebody needed to call maintenance or animal control to deal with the pigeon that had taken up home in the downstairs cupboard.
“Thank you!” the Captain exclaimed in a rare show of expressive thanks, gesticulating both at her and at Julian. His eyes were glued straight ahead, but neither Alison nor Julian were missing how he kept (badly) sneaking side glances up and down Julian’s bare legs. Alison allowed herself a small smile as she looked down.
“He’s not asking for unreasonable information, Cap,” she said, swirling her tea around her mug. The Captain looked utterly betrayed as Julian hooted in joyful victory.
“Fine,” the Captain said hotly a few minutes later, once Julian’s celebrations had reduced to an acceptable noise level. “You really want to know that badly?”
“No!” “Yes!”
“It’s Edmond,” he snapped.
“Edmond what?” pressed Julian. “After all, I believe I did specify full name for the reinstatement of the trousers?”
“Julian! Go and put some trousers on!” Alison scolded. With surprisingly minimal grumbling Julian skulked off back towards the room. Alison watched him all the way to make sure he didn’t lurk around the corner or something daft before shifting her attention back to the Captain. “Edmond is a lovely name!”
“Edmond was more my father,” the Captain said, if a little awkwardly. “Most call me Ted, or Teddy.”
“Teddy,” Alison said, rolling the name experimentally around her mouth. The Captain waited, one eyebrow raised. “It suits you.”
“Thank you,” he replied in a somewhat stiff voice. “Now may we end this blasted conversation?”
“Alright,” Alison chuckled. The Captain nodded, and made to turn back to his newspaper when Alison made a most curious noise and he stopped. “Oh! Mike and I are going to the market later, do you want anything? Or a lift up there?”
“I can get my own groceries, thank you,” he said. Guilt settled deep in his stomach, knowing this was perhaps a little rude of him to dismiss her. The thing was, ever since his discharge everybody had been treating him like an invalid, someone who couldn’t care for himself. The month he’d stayed with his sister had been simply unbearable. God bless Rosie and her opening her home to him, but she damn could coddle when she wanted to. “Apologies,” he mumbled, cheeks burning as he fought the urge to bury his head in his newspaper.
“Offer’s there if you change your mind,” Alison said warmly before finishing her tea, setting the mug on the side and heading off to her apartment, presumably to wake Michael.
The Captain sighed, flicking his paper out again. It had become awfully creased during that whole debacle. However, as he began to read as he did every morning, something didn’t feel right. He was… restless. Perhaps Alison was right: maybe he did need to get out of the house…?
“Alison?” he called, jumping out of the armchair as quickly as his creaky old knees would allow.
“Yes Cap?” Alison’s faint voice replied.
“Is this lift still available?”
***
“Right, meet back here in two hours then?” Alison said as she placed a parking ticket on her dashboard and watched the Captain ease himself out of the back seat. Mike was already standing awkwardly by the car. The Captain nodded, wishing that he could have brought his vintage World War Two swagger stick with him. Alas, it was not socially acceptable (as his father had informed him on many occasions during his childhood) and so clasping his hands behind his smart shirt, tie and jumper was the way forward.
It had been so long since he’d left the house for something other than the bare necessities, he realised as he scanned the busy market square. Shopping for pleasure was something that had become so alien to him, buried by years of military routines and forces of habit, that he had entirely forgotten that it existed until young Kitty had forcibly dragged him out of Button House to spend one frightful afternoon in what she called a “shopping centre” and the Captain called “a brightly-lit sound-drowned hellhole”. Despite the terrors of the shopping centre, that afternoon had reminded the Captain of something that--
“--aptain! Are you listening?”
He jolted out his thoughts quickly, surprised to see Alison standing barely an inch from him, waving her hand in his face and looking quite concerned.
“Oh, erm… jolly good, yes,” he muttered before rocking on his heels, clicking them together and heading towards the market.
Alison was shouting something after him, but as he entered the market other people’s voices drowned her out. It was busy, busier than he had expected. He clenched his hands more tightly behind his back as he strolled forward towards the market stalls. What did he need? Nothing, the prim and proper part of his mind supplied, but he did his best to push this away. There was… fruit? Good God, markets had changed a lot since he was younger. There were magazines, sweet stalls, bric-a-brac… He took a carefully measured breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth just like he had done in basic training. Fine. This was fine . He glanced backwards, thinking maybe that he could dash back and get Alison to drive him back to the house, but as luck would have it she had already disappeared off into the market. He let out a small sigh, turning back to the market.
Fruit. Fruit was a good starting point. When he was a child, his mother used to take him and his sister to the local market, and would always let him choose a treat from the fruit stall if he behaved himself. He allowed himself a small smile as he strode towards it. When he noticed that they had strawberries, he had to stop himself from doing a little happy dance right there on the street. Strawberries from the supermarket were just never the same as those from the fruit stall at the market, he always privately thought. Perhaps a little eagerly, he reached forward and picked out one, two, three punnets. Well, he may as well treat the house if he was buying them.
“Blimey, I haven’t seen someone buy this many strawberries since Wimbledon!”
The Captain felt his cheeks flush as he turned to look for the source of the voice. There were a couple of people smirking, talking to other customers or rummaging around the fruit, but it soon became quite clear to him that the call had come from the handsome man standing just to the left of him.
The man was smiling almost shyly at him. He was dressed casually, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes were sparkling. His short, cropped hair and the way he was standing, however, told the Captain that this man was ex-military. Speaking of, the man was starting to look a little concerned. “You okay? I was just joking…”
“Oh!” the Captain exclaimed. He must have been stammering, or making those noises that he made when he was nervous. “I’m sorry, old boy, in a world of my own.”
“No need to apologise,” the fruit seller said warmly. “So. Strawberries?”
“Yes,” the Captain said. He offered the man a small smile. “It's so hard to find good ones now, isn’t it? And-and I-I-I-I… I thought that I’d introduce the people I live with to proper fruit.”
“Good choice,” the other said with a grin. “You can’t go wrong with strawberries.”
“Quite right.”
The two chuckled a little awkwardly, looking away. The Captain handed over the boxes of strawberries, allowing the other to count them up and bag them.
“Look, I know this is… completely inappropriate, but are you military?” the fruit seller asked out of the blue as he handed over the blue plastic bag. The Captain straightened up, a strangely happy feeling spreading through him.
“Ex-military, yes,” he said proudly.
“So am I!” The fruit seller straightened up, snapping to attention and saluting. “Lieutenant William Havers, sir.”
“Captain,” the Captain said. He smiled to himself as he said, “at ease, Lieutenant.”
Havers did so, smiling at the Captain. “What brings you to this neck of the woods, then?” the Captain asked, wanting to lean against the stall but also being half-convinced that if he leaned down he would not be able to get back up again.
“Deployment that lasted less than a month before I took a bullet and got shipped back here,” Havers replied. He did lean down onto the stall, grinning up at the Captain.
“Terribly sorry, old chap,” the Captain said. “Bad, was it?”
“Hardly bothers me now. What about you, sir?”
“Oh. Erm… training accident.” Why was he telling a man that he’d just met about his accident, the accident that had taken the residents of Button House months to get out of him?
“Hang on…” Haver narrowed his eyes a little, looking the Captain up and down. After a moment, he let out a short exclamation, clicking his fingers. “The accident down in Sussex? The training base thing they tried to cover up?”
“Precisely,” the Captain mumbled. “How, um, how much for the strawberries?”
“Oh, it’s on the house,” Havers said, smiling at him. The Captain could feel his cheeks heating up as he looked between the bag of strawberries and the man in front of him, shaking his head and beginning to stammer.
“No, I-I, I couldn’t possibly, I--”
“I insist,” Havers said. He still had that infernal smile on his face, the one that was making the Captain feel as squirley, for want of a better word. “Think of it as a thanks for your service.”
Well, once he’d said that there wasn’t much that the Captain could do. Thanking Havers profusely, he backed away, finding himself suddenly unsure of how to handle the situation. He felt like a criminal, having pilfered three boxes of strawberries from a good, hard-working man. Was there any way he could repay him…?
When the neighbours reunited in the car park, Alison couldn’t help but burst out laughing as she watched the Captain stagger towards her, copious amounts of blue plastic bags filled with fruit hanging off either arm and a furious blush overtaking his cheeks.