Chapter Text
Heart racing, Captain James Dwight fumbled with his newly acquired ribbon bar, a sense of self-righteousness sweeping over him despite what he was doing. Decorated officers only, huh? He smirked to himself as he pinned the bar hurriedly over his heart. He was more than qualified to be in this house. He hadn’t been Commanding Officer for years to be turned away at the gate.
And besides, he had an ulterior motive - one that meant he simply had to be there.
He skulked through the corridors that he’d had etched into his brain, only straightening his posture when the bar was stubbornly pinned to his jacket. The incomprehensible hum of chatter caught his attention, and he snapped his direction instantly towards its source - the old meeting room. The noise got louder and louder as he headed up the stairs, and a hand of nervousness closed around his chest.
What if James was wrong? What if he wasn’t there? What if he’d misunderstood, or the rumours of the returning Lieutenant were only that - rumous? What if he’d di- no. That was unthinkable. The Captain wouldn’t allow himself to even let that thought finish.
He paused as he reached the heavy wooden door. Come on, James, old boy, he told himself, tilting his nose into the air in order to pretend he wasn’t terrified about what awaited him on the other side of the door. What sort of CO do you think you are?
Before he could talk himself out of it - he’d come all this way, after all - he stepped forward and into the room. Dozens of men in uniform stood around in groups, chatting contentedly about the Allies’ victory. He forced himself forward, never feeling more out of place, straightening his tie absentmindedly. His eyes scanned the room rapidly, searching for the face he’d missed ever since his Lieutenant had left him, more determined than he had ever been before.
And then… there he was.
The Captain was transfixed, eyes never leaving the man across the room as he dared breathe out. He was possessed with the urge to race to the other side of the space, shoving past anyone in his way, and throw himself at Havers, but suppressed it (as tempting as it was) by digging his nails into his palms instead. It became all the more difficult, however, when the Lieutenant smiled softly, then his eyes flicked over to meet the Captain’s. Rather than glancing away, as James had convinced himself Havers would (hell, would he even remember his old CO?), Anthony held eye contact, and warmth like no other spread through the older man’s body.
Captain could see even from halfway across the room that a string of proud colours stood over the man’s left pocket, and his own sense of pride inflated at the sight. He always knew Havers was worthy of such decoration - was brave enough to be worthy of it - and he only felt an increased sense of elation when he realised there were more medals upon Anthony’s shoulder. The shining medallions declared to the room that Havers had truly earned the colours over his heart.
He wasn’t the Captain’s Lieutenant anymore. He was a Major - above James, now - and the thought was slightly dizzying to the older man.
Almost experimentally, the Captain took a step forward, still struggling to comprehend that after all this time, he was this close to being able to talk to, laugh with, touch...
Havers turned towards him, the hint of a smile on his face, and James found himself stepping forward, blind to anything but that man. In the back of his mind, he noticed how the years of war had affected Havers. Light shadows now circled the man’s eyes, the lines once idly sketched around his features were more defined, and a scar from what looked like shrapnel stretched over the left side of his face.
Captain’s heart fluttered like a teenager’s. He had never seen anyone so beautiful.
He didn’t know what he was planning to do when he reached Anthony - a million possibilities ran through his brain in an instant - but all he knew was that he needed to get to his Lieutenant - Major.
He pushed forward, eyes fixed onto Havers. A shoulder came out of nowhere, pushing with strength into the Captain and breaking the spell that Anthony had placed onto the CO. The other man apologised quickly, then pulled away with a “Captain!”. James froze, tension flooding to his muscles as he tried desperately to wrench his thoughts from Havers and remember who the man before him was.
“Cartwright, good Lord,” he eventually forced out, hoping that the smile on his face was convincing.
Cartwright made a noise of surprise. “I haven’t seen you since, what, ‘42?”
Over the soldier’s shoulder, Anthony’s face fell and he looked away in discomfort. The Captain squeezed his hands into fists with frustration and impatience.
“Gosh, must be,” he mumbled. “Yes. Sorry, I’ve just…” He pointed over Cartwright’s shoulder, desperately trying to get his point across about how he needed to get on. He attempted to step forward, but his adversary side-stepped to remain in his path.
“Never had you down as front-line material,” stated Cartwright goodnaturedly. “Where were you posted?”
“Oh, well…” Uh oh. “Erm… Forward Command, actually, yeah. Versailles.”
“Versailles?” If the Captain hadn’t been so distracted trying to catch Havers’ eye again, he would have heard the sudden anger in the man’s voice. “I was in Versailles!”
James looked back at Cartwright, horror dawning. Of all the places he could have chosen…
“You weren’t in Versailles - were you in Versailles?”
“Well… briefly. Before I moved to, um…” No, now was not the time for his brain to stop computing!
“To where?” asked Cartwright, the distrust so thick in his voice it could have been cut with a butter knife. James, realising he wasn’t getting anywhere, once again pointed over the soldier’s shoulder, trying again for politeness.
“Sorry, I really must just…”
This time, when he tried to move past, Cartwright pointed an accusatory finger at the newly-attached ribbon bar.
“That’s not even the right way up.” Hostility was creeping into his voice.
“What?” James stuttered helplessly, glancing down at the offending bar. Around the pair, the other soldiers were starting to pick up on the accusing tone of conversation.
“What are you trying to pull here?” Panic began to boil up the Captain’s trachea.
“Erm…” He laughed nervously. Just let me past, his mind hissed. “Well, the thing is, I… Sorry, I-”
Cartwright once again stepped in front of his escape route.
“No, no, explain yourself, man!” snapped the soldier. The loud tone caught the attention of somebody who made the Captain’s blood run cold. The General. Countless colours stood proudly under the man’s left lapel, dizzying the Captain.
“What’s all this?” the seasoned veteran asked, approaching with eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“My old CO, sir!” explained Cartwright, outright glaring at James. “Never left Blighty, trying to pass himself off as the bally hero!”
Around them, the crowd of soldiers began pushing in, and there was suddenly no chance of getting away. Claustrophobia set in, the Captain's gaze flicking with terror at the various faces that he half-remembered around the room. He would have had to be stupid to miss the unfiltered hatred hitting him like bullets from every angle, as the men realised what was going on.
James shifted from foot to foot, hands starting to hurt with how hard he was pressing his nails into them. He didn’t stop. He gazed imploringly at his old Officer Cadet, begging him to release him.
“No, please, I- urm..” He barely heard the sound of his own terror as the blood rushed in his ears.
“Where did you get these, hm?” questioned the General, gesturing to the ribbon bar with his swagger-stick.
“No, I, erm…” Between the two men, he could see Anthony. The Lieu - Major - was watching him with concern in his features. The Captain felt his heart throb, but it wasn’t as it had been not two minutes ago. This hurt.
“I c- I can…”
“How dare you?! Have you no shame?” roared the General, but all James could see was Havers.
His knees began to buckle, back hunching as pure pain radiated from the left side of his chest. He looked up at Anthony for as long as he could through tear-studded vision, but eventually conceded to the agony and squeezed his eyes shut, hand coming up to press over his heart.
Through the rushing in his ears, he heard someone unidentifiable whisper “what’s wrong with that man?”. While once upon a time such a question would have been a death sentence, James couldn’t linger on it for any longer than it took for the words to be out of the man’s mouth.
His legs suddenly lost all strength, and he fell sideways onto the hard wooden floor.
“Sir! Sir!”
That voice cut through the suffocating air of the room, prompting James to open his eyes. While the rest of the room was blurry and unfocused, the man kneeling beside him was in perfect clarity.
Captain raised a shaking hand towards Havers, knocking his knuckles lightly against the Major’s palm.
“Well, fetch a medic!” Anthony was hissing, glaring up at Cartwright, who ran off with a moment’s hesitation. “Are you alright?” His voice, now, was barely louder than a whisper, and filled to the brim with worry.
“I’m sorry,” James forced out, although the movement of his chest only made the pain worse. Havers wrapped his hand around his CO’s fingers, and the Captain was sure that the contact was the only thing prolonging his dwindling life. If only he could find the strength to squeeze back.
“I had to find you,” he breathed, hearing the weakness in his own voice.
“I’m here,” Anthony offered, retaining the gentle grip he had on James’ hand as the Captain tried desperately to reach for his face. For the face that he had dreamed of nightly since Havers’ departure, the face that he had longed for for years.
And now he had it. But he just… couldn’t… reach.
James wasn’t stupid. He could feel the life ebbing from his body, each breath shaky and uncertain. He was dying. This was the only chance he was ever going to have - to say those words that had been on the tip of his tongue so long ago, as he watched his Lieutenant walk out of his office.
“I… I…” Gather the strength, please, please, please…
“I know.” Those two words were the softest the Captain had ever heard. Barely audible, even in the silence of the room. And, as his heart was breaking, James Dwight felt its scars from long ago heal over and disappear.
He grunted helplessly, trying to force each breath out, like he couldn’t count the number he had left on both hands. The slight grip he had on Anthony’s fingers loosened, falling instead to the swagger-stick grasped in Havers’ other hand. At the slightest prompting of James’ hand on his, the Major let it go, and the Captain held it with all the strength he had in both hands.
Anthony let his hand fall over James’, a labyrinth of emotion drawn onto his face. As he gazed up with vision that was blurring around the edges, Captain couldn’t help but wish he could have had one chance to kiss such an expression away.
His breath came in gasps, and when he spoke, he heard his own emotion. But he didn’t blame himself. Not anymore.
His eyes were full of tears that would never have a chance to fall.
“Anthony…”
“James…”
What he wouldn’t have given, five years ago, to hear Anthony say his name like that.
The pain in his chest had, at this point, spread up and into his head. As his vision faded, blotches like parchment on fire burning their way across his sight, the last thing he saw was Havers’ face gazing down at him. In the colour of his eyes - tea-brown, James had always thought - was written their story.
Their story. One of missed chances, of leaps not taken, of words swallowed down before they could escape.
The Captain had often caught himself fantasising about a universe in which he could let himself voice his inner feelings without judgement. Where he could come clean to Anthony, without fear of rejection - or worse.
No need to fantasise, he told himself. If he wasn’t dead, he might have smiled.
The next second, the pain that had been flowing freely throughout his body was gone. His eyes refocused, and he took a deep breath in, much to the relief of his burning lungs, before he realised he was still lying on the floor, surrounded by his comrades and superiors. Ah.
Anthony was still kneeling beside him, apparently unaware of the sudden consciousness of his CO. Havers removed his hand from where it had been resting on James’, and the Captain frowned.
“Anthony? I say, Havers,” he whispered, glad to hear the steadiness of his voice had returned. When he got no response, he scowled softly.
“Anthony,” he tried again, raising his voice to its speaking volume. Havers was only a few feet away, why couldn’t he hear him? “Damn it, Lieutenant - gah, Major - I’m… I’m alright!”
He reached his right hand up after a moment’s hesitation - fuck it, who cared if the soldiers around them saw? The war was over; he didn’t owe them anything. So he stretched out, ecstatic at the returned strength in his muscles, and cupped his Major’s cheek - only for his hand to disappear through Anthony’s face. As it did so, an immense feeling of nausea arose deep in his gut, stronger than any sickness he had ever felt before.
“Oh, good Lord,” he mumbled, breathing heavily to repress the sensation. His left hand closed itself into a fist, but instead of the expected pain from his nails digging into his palms, he found himself tightly grasping the swagger-stick that Havers had given to him. He looked down at it, mouth quirking upwards.
“Anthony, your stick,” he reminded gently, offering it back up to the Major. When a tear fell from the younger man’s eye, his gaze fixed almost through James, the Captain frowned again.
“What the bally hell…” He waved his right hand in front of Anthony’s face, to no avail. A sudden thought struck him. What was it that the boys had been drunkenly rambling about the last time they went out for a drink? What happens after death - a conversation fairly frequently heard, considering the war. One of them had mentioned the idea of ghosts, that some people for reasons unknown are allowed to remain walking the earth after death.
He had scoffed. The Captain had always been a realist, with very little patience for the supernatural, but…
Surely not.
Already knowing what he would see, but by no means looking forward to it, James sat up and turned to look over his shoulder.
He was greeted by… himself. Lying on the floor, entirely motionless, eyes unseeing and lips slightly parted. He felt a wave of any number of emotions rise up in his gut, and quickly turned the other way, raising one hand to his mouth as the other clutched at the swagger-stick helplessly.
He snapped his head to the side at the sound of a suppressed sniff, to see Havers pressing his lips together with an air of quiet desperation. Tears rolled down his cheeks, which were a shade redder than usual, and James felt his own throat close painfully as tears welled up in his own eyes at the sight.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the Major whispered. His breath hitched, and he slowly reached out a trembling hand. He closed James’ eyes, then placed his hand under his CO’s chin and pushed it upwards with all the gentle reverence in the world. If it weren’t for the tense posture, and the fact that he was on a wooden floor, the Captain might have simply dozed off. The watching ghost breathed in deep, jutting his nose in the air to discourage the persistent tears.
Anthony cleared his throat and wiped his cheeks in what he probably thought was a subtle manner. It wasn’t, and the Captain smiled sadly.
A moment later, Cartwright came striding back in, followed closely by a grave-faced medic. James’ grip tightened at the sight of the soldier, jaw clenching as anger flooded his ghostly bloodstream. This was all Cartwright’s fault. The crowd of soldiers stepped to the side as the pair approached, leaving them exposed to the body and the shaking man kneeling beside it.
“Good God…” muttered Cartwright, paling. Captain watched him through narrowed eyes from where he crouched by his own form.
“Gentlemen, I ask you to evacuate the room,” the medic - Fitzgerald, his nametag stated - requested in a steady, calm voice as his eyes fell on the dead Captain. James forced himself to his feet, glad for the returned strength but grimacing at the cracking in his knees. That attribute had stuck, then.
Slowly, like water flowing through a creek, the gathered soldiers began to filter out of the doors, unsure chatter permeating the air. Anthony shifted, blinking tightly a few times to clear his eyes of their tears. If his heart hadn’t just stopped, James was sure it would have cracked at the desperate air of the Major.
“Don’t go, Anthony,” he whispered from where he looked down. “Stay with me.”
“I won’t leave you.” Havers replaced his hand over his CO’s still one as the ghost’s brow furrowed.
“I say, Havers, did you just… hear me?” He crouched down again (crack), searching his Major’s face for any signs. But he got no recognition. Of course. Don’t be ridiculous, James, of course he can’t hear you. Not anymore. The tiniest spark of hope that had dared raise its head was instantly shot down, leaving only an echo of past emotion.
“Excuse me, sir, I’m going to have to ask you to evacuate,” Fitzgerald prompted Anthony gently, respect for authority mingling with expertise. Havers stood up suddenly, then turned on his heel and glared over the medic’s shoulder, directly at Cartwright. The soldier had been unable to tear his eyes from the corpse of his old CO, but as Anthony approached him with clenched fists, he blinked up at the taller man with startled disorientation.
“Major, I-” he began, but was cut off with a sharp “oof-!” when Havers’ fist made direct contact with his nose. Cartwright fell to the floor, clutching at his face, blood seeping through his fingers and mingling with pained tears. Through strangled gasps, he managed to fix his gaze on the Major’s as Havers stood above him, massaging his knuckle.
“I have nothing to say to you. You are dismissed, Cartwright,” Anthony snarled, a coldness in his voice that the temporarily star-struck Captain had never heard. He straightened up, a small grunt of effort escaping him, and as he approached Havers, the Major turned on his heel and marched away from the crumpled Officer Cadet.
“Anthony…” Captain whispered, stepping towards Havers. He opened his arms helplessly, but only remembered it was a futile gesture when Anthony strode right through him. He doubled over, the nausea from earlier returning tenfold. No, no, no. He would not be defeated so easily, not after what Havers had just done on his behalf.
“Anthony, Havers, for God’s sake, man!” Desperation flooded through his body in an instant. He had to get through to Anthony, he had to, he had to. He swung around unsteadily, still reeling from the nausea, and flung himself towards Havers once more. While once upon a time he would have barrelled into his Lieutenant’s back, indisputably throwing the both of them to the floor, he only found himself stumbling right through the man. He gasped as the wave of queasiness replenished itself, a despairing thought building itself up in his head.
This can’t be it - there must be a way to alert Anthony to his presence, there simply must be.
“Ah- Good Lord, Havers, please,” James muttered, swallowing down the nausea as he looked back at his Anthony. He heard the way his voice broke on the last word, but couldn’t possibly care.
“What are you going to do with him?” Havers was asking Fitzgerald, looking down with a steely gaze at the body in front of him. His voice, while steady, was gritted out and flat.
“There is a mortuary in the next town over,” Fitzgerald replied. A hand laid itself on Havers’ shoulder, and James wished it was he that was able to offer such simple comfort. “I am sorry for your loss, sir.”
“It’s not your fault,” Havers stated simply. “It’s his.” He glared over his shoulder, but Cartwright was long gone.
“Still, sir. I know it’s hard to lose someone that you, ah, care about.”
“Thank you, Fitzgerald. If you wouldn’t quite mind, I intend to stay with him.” There was an intonation to his voice that indicated it was very much not optional.
“Of course, sir.”
Hands shaking, Captain had been all the while trying desperately to get Anthony’s attention. First he placed a palm on the Major’s face, only for it to phase straight through. A gentle push to Havers’ shoulder yielded nothing different, and even a few measured slaps to the sides of Anthony’s face had no effect - other than making the Captain feel sick to his stomach.
“Please, please, please,” he gasped, clutching his hand over his stomach as he doubled over. “It can’t happen like this, I simply won’t allow it.” The angry tone was slightly diminished by the tears beginning to spill over James’ eyes.
“I’m afraid there isn’t much alternative,” came a different voice to the Captain’s left, startling the ghost deeply. He swung his head around, searching for any soldier who had yet to leave, the grip on Havers’ swagger-stick tightening when he was greeted only by emptiness.
“What the bally hell? Who said that - show yourself, man!”
“Oi, I’m up here!”
Up..? What?
James’ gaze travelled up the wall, coming to rest on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. What he saw had him stepping back sharply, brandishing the swagger-stick in a weak attempt at a defensive pose.
“What, you never seen a head before? You look like you just saw a ghost, Captain,” chortled the… head. “Ah, sorry. It’s a good one, couldn’t help myself.”
The Captain found himself completely forgetting the entirety of the English language as he eyed the bodiless thing before him.
“Oh, right, manners. Lady B’s always on about ‘em. I’m Humphrey, Humphrey Bone. I would shake your hand, if I had a hand at the present moment.”
“I- I don’t…” He didn’t step closer to… Humphrey.
“Yeah, I know. Takes a bit of getting used to. At least you don’t have two separate parts to learn how to use.”
“You’re… you’re a head?” He hadn’t meant for it to sound so accusatory.
“Alright, mate, no need to rub it in.” The head rolled its eyes.
“We should move him,” Anthony was saying, and the Captain flicked his attention back to his Major.
“Yes, I rather think we should,” agreed Fitzgerald. “I understand that there is a telephone in the next room?”
“Yes, I think there just might be.”
“Good. I’ll call the mortuary. Sir, I… recommend you take this time to say goodbye.”
“Ah, of course. Thank you, Fitzgerald.”
With a nod, the medic marched out of the room and shut the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked, Havers practically collapsed next to James’ body. His hand immediately flew to its place over the Captain’s, his other reaching to gently rub up and down the side of James’ face. Captain crouched opposite him, looking into those tea-brown eyes and wishing there was a way they could look back.
“Unfair, isn’t it, sir?”
“You have no idea, Anthony. And, call me James. I believe we’re far past formalities - and I should be calling you sir, now, I suppose.”
Anthony laughed lightly, albeit shakily. “If you could hear me, you’d probably tell me to drop the title.”
James raised an eyebrow in amusement, then reached out to brush his knuckle against Anthony’s tear-soaked cheekbone. Even if touching him brought nothing but pain, he couldn’t bear to waste a moment; to waste a chance. He’d done enough of that in his lifetime. This time, when the nausea came, he swallowed it back down stubbornly.
“I’m… sorry, Anthony. I can’t believe I blew my chance to see you again.”
“For the whole time I was away, I missed you relentlessly, si- James. I saw your face in my dreams - and now I can speak freely, you were beautiful. I would wake as the stars circled in the sky, and I would look up to them, and the only comfort I could take was that you would see those same stars every night.”
“My Anthony, I missed you so much it felt like my old heart would simply snap. I dreamed of you, too. Could barely escape you, try as I might, ha…” The feeling of tears down his cheeks didn’t stop him from gazing at the face of the man he loved.
“You were so stubborn. I couldn’t be rid of you, James. Every night, you would wait for me, and we would live a lifetime together. Go dancing - although we had quite the pair of left feet between us - go drinking, and just…” Anthony sighed, squeezing one hand over James’ and tracing the definitions of his cheekbones with the other.
“Be safe?”
“Be safe.” The imagery of what they could have had fluttered through James’ head, and he found himself choking back very un-Captainly sobs. No judgement; walking around in public together - maybe even hand in hand; returning home to the other’s waiting arms; trying (and failing) to waltz through their living room; falling into bed with loving kisses and intertwined limbs. His inability to make contact with Anthony suddenly became all the more obvious, and James wanted nothing more than to just be able to hold his Major in his arms, one time.
Unfair, isn’t it?
“It was lovely. Utterly perfect. I think, James, you were the only thing that kept me sane in North Africa. Thinking of the moment when we might be alone again. I’d planned to tell you everything, you know.” Anthony laughed, the shuddering sound dissolving into a breathy sob halfway through. “I’d written you a letter, actually. I know it’s probably cowardly, and you’d laugh if you knew, but…”
“Never. I would never laugh at you,” promised James, even as he knew his words would never be heard.
Anthony removed his hand from where it had been rubbing the curve of James’ jaw, and reached into his breast pocket. When it withdrew, a tightly folded piece of parchment was held tightly in his grip.
“You’ll never hear it, James, you’ll never hear any of this.” Saying it out loud seemed to bring realisation to dawn on Anthony, and he choked on his tears for a moment. James sniffed, completely unfocussed on the queasiness that was sitting in the base of his gut.
“Oh, Anthony. Don’t you cry over me now, you hear?” But he didn’t. He didn’t hear. That was the whole point. “You can barely let yourself fall apart over me - I’m hardly worth it, am I?”
Anthony, never pulling his hand from over James’, unfolded the letter and swallowed noisily before he spoke.
“Even if you don’t hear this, I have to tell you. I’ve had enough of running away, James. It’s time to face my demons, so…” He took a breath. “My dearest James…
“If I have been able to pass this message onto you, we have been reunited, and I am the happiest man in all the world as you read these words. It seems that fate has been kind to us, sir. Despite the time apart, we are drawn together on a string as if we cannot live without each other. And, as outlandish of an analogy as that may seem, it is certainly fitting.
“Some of the boys here in Africa have been discussing the sweethearts that they have had to leave behind when called to action. Some had pictures, even. They talked about how they missed their girlfriends, their fiancées, their wives. They talked of the feeling of being around these special people - almost a lightweightedness, like they were completely liberated. And, sir, I implore you to hear what I mean when I say this: I feel that around you, James.
“It is surreal to write it down, to see those words that have been crashing around like a typhoon in my mind put into the real world. But, it is right. I am not unintelligent enough to dismiss that they are completely accurate. And I have no way of knowing how you’ll react to these very same words. My fate lies entirely in your hands, sir. Turn me in, and I will accept how you feel with a bruised, but understanding heart. Alternatively, you may entirely disregard this confession, and I would be most thankful if we did not mention it again.
“Of course, there is the other path; the one that plays out in my head whenever I shut my eyes. However, I cannot bring myself to write out the intricacies of this fantasy, as the awareness that it is almost definitely just that - a fantasy - forbids me from doing so. I can only hope that you know what I am alluding to.
“My James, it has taken all the strength I can spare in this ghastly war to not follow the string back to dear old Britain, back to the fields which do not explode underfoot, back to you. No matter the course of action you take now, I cannot go further without closure. Even if I risk my life in my search for it. I respect you too much to hide this side to myself anymore, and I love you too much to continue lying to your face about who I am.
“I can only hope that I have made my intentions clear enough, sir.
“Yours until my heart stops its rhythm,
“Anthony.”