Archive of Our Own ^beta

War may prepare you for death, but it never prepares you for what comes after.

The Captain had never really prepared for either, hiding behind his rank as CO was as brave as he ever got. He'd never reached the frontlines, admittedly he never intended to, but in his youth, he'd once come close to the Navy. They spoke at his school and tried to rope in every young man to join their scheme, but the Captain wasn't having it. Whether it be at sea or on land, he never wanted to fight a war, but at least with the mud beneath his boots, he had a chance to run. He shudders to think what would have happened to him, trapped in the middle of the ocean, either blown to smithereens or drowned. The SBS would have swallowed him whole.

Now, in a room full of generals and soldiers, his biggest insecurities finally dwarf him. He is swept out to the murky waters with no escape, just like he feared, a big wave collapsing its weight on top of him in the merciless sea of humiliation. It burns his eyes, ices out his limbs and he flails about like a dying animal as the ship of army men passes him by. They do not risk their lives for him, instead, they just watch him drown. Like he deserves. As he sinks, he sees his second-in-command reach for him, and for a moment he lingers on the surface. The water infiltrates his lungs. He had to find him, and he did, so he let go. His heart gives up fighting.

It isn't cold, or so hot it burns -- in fact, death is room temperature. It's idle, still, unmoving. The Captain would struggle to believe he was dead if he couldn't see himself, inanimate on the floor with a crowd of men around him. He pats himself down frantically, sees the swagger stick in his palm and how his knuckles are white around it. His heart no longer hurts in his chest, not like it did, instead, it hurts differently, as he sees the look of forlorn in his Lieutenant's face.

"I know," Havers had said just a few moments ago, as the Captain's vision turned black and his heart finally burst. He knew. His whole world has been transformed in a matter of seconds. He dies with more questions than he did before, struck by the confusion of whether Havers returned his love. After he left for North Africa, the Captain convinced himself to be delusional; buried his love deep down until he could no longer resist it. Death was to be expected of a soldier on the frontlines, but also to be expected by his Commander who is so desperately in love with him it consumes him. Although excellent and adroit, the Lieutenant had the odds stacked against him and his Captain lay awake every night praying for his safe return, but his return was not a guarantee -- not outside of a body bag. Nevertheless, he survived and the Captain couldn't relive the pain of denying his love any longer. Those countless nights, lost sleep over unsaid words and lingering looks. The pining, so intense it hurt. Perhaps that is what finally killed him. Love in war had never ended well for anybody, the Captain thought. He was proven to be correct, now all he could do was watch his Lieutenant sit loyally beside his body, his brown orbs trained on the dead Captain's lost expression.

Those soft hands, roughened by war, cradling the Captain's own. It's a warmth he never wants to forget as he settles into his new ghostly form. His own pale hands protected by the strong grip of his Lieutenant's before his final breath, like all the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place. James exists only in this moment, he reels, his life flashes before his eyes and he can't understand what his hands did before they were held, what his heart did before he loved. He feels real, overwhelmed with passion, strengthened by their brief united front. Finally, he was brave. Daring to reach for the stars, caress the cheek of his beloved in front of all those men. Havers knew how to keep his men in line, even in dire matters, the Captain included.

As the medic finished his assessment and confirmed his passing, gentle whispers filled the air. They all knew better than to gossip about death, or perhaps they were desensitised to it, but a post-war phoney was certainly an event to discuss. They all seem taken aback by the polite, warm yet distant Havers having been brought to his knees by the ordeal.

A few men with a stretcher entered the room, the General began spouting some nonsense, nothing the Captain cared to listen to any longer. His former subordinate, Cartwright, ordered his Lieutenant to get up. Havers' eyebrows furrowed, his lips pushed into a firm line and finally, he broke from his trance-like state and stepped back. There was a hand on his shoulder but he paid no mind to it, taking a deep breath as they lifted his Captain's limp body up and away.

"I'm sorry, James," He whispered, raising his arm in one final salute. He drops his hand, eyes struggling to follow the stretcher out and he attempts to maintain composure.

The Captain faces his love, tears brimming in his blue eyes, dangerously close to falling. He tries to hold them back, forgetting he is dead to the world and the social standards cast upon him, but they fall anyway. There is no one to ridicule him any more than they already had. He takes a shaky step forward, and he aches. He aches even in death to be himself, but the soldier within him scares him straight. He yearns to comfort his Anthony.

"No, no, don't--" He choked as he tried to reach forward, desperate to hold Havers' hand just one last time, but instead went straight through him. Sickness struck him, more overwhelming than it had already been and the Captain doubled over, clutching his stomach with a shudder. He turns to see his Lieutenant follow the other men out of the door and holds Havers' swagger stick a little bit closer. His heart hurts again. The room had begun to empty out as if death had stopped them before, but the war was over now and they couldn't step over his body like they would have before. Part of him wishes they could; treat him like he really was on the frontlines, trample his body if they want to, destroy him. Anger builds inside him as Anthony disappears down the hall. He deserves it.

Pity echoes in the Captain's mind. He is a deluded, middle-aged man who was never worthy of his rank, why would a man like Anthony Havers have hidden affection for him? A different light of vulnerability shines on him, singles him out like a spotlight on a vast stage in front of an audience of soldiers. He was the entertainment, since Button House XI, perhaps Havers was just another member of that audience, laughing away and throwing his popcorn. The Captain shakes his head profusely, growing dizzy with panic. He wants his Lieutenant back, needs him. One final moment with just them and no peering eyes.

Then he watched Havers leave once more. Through the window, a crowd of men gathered around the front and cars collecting them at the gates. He sees Havers climb into one, not even a glance back before the door shuts. The Captain concludes that's what he had to have done at the North Africa front; leave his friends without a second look, but they were not just friends. God, what if there were somebody else whilst he was in North Africa? He'll never know. Somebody up there, if heaven is even real, must hate him. He's a sinner after all. Stuck in limbo, forever wondering what could have been, a ruthless reminder that he overstepped.

Havers had walked away.

When he'd first entered the room he was destined to die in, the Captain had prepared himself to never meet Havers' eyes again. The doe-eyed Lieutenant had always been courageous and nimble-witted, but the stories of war spared no man. No words could encapsulate the relief, the overwhelming comfort and fullness that washed over the Captain's body upon seeing that sweet smile once again -- vivacious, effervescent, alive. A survivor.

Though that relief lingered, there was a bittersweet solace that Anthony could live a full life. Without him. He could settle down and find a wife, Lord knows there would be plenty of women lucky to have him. Havers was truly valiant, a real man with strong morals, who could fill awkward silences with laughter and expertly distract the Captain from the paperwork he knew he hated. Even scarred, his face was still soft with sincerity and kindness. He wants to run his fingers over them, feel each curve and line, listen to their stories, watch Anthony's breath hitch, and replace the pain with love. Had there not been a war, the Captain imagined his Lieutenant as a baker or a school teacher -- someone who gave everything to his community and had many admirers. He'd get flowers, be asked out on dates by young women, and be doted on by their mothers, but he would always tell them his heart belonged to someone else. They'd assume it was an old girlfriend, perhaps one who had passed away. They'd never suspect his roommate, James, to be his beloved.

That was another life. A different universe. War granted them even meeting, it's all the Captain had known since he was 14. He never expected to even reach 45, let alone love. At least he got to love, albeit quietly. When Havers had left their station at Button house in 1940, the Captain never expected to see him again. Now, he must relive that, this time he was more sure than ever that he'd watched his Anthony walk away one last time.

He does not wait, but he does burn. James begins to accept death as a far more welcoming alternative to the world outside, full of hatred and rejection. He died clutching onto a swagger stick above his rank, heart full, hands growing cold from his love's touch. Had he lived, perhaps Anthony would've grown to resent him, or maybe they would've written to one another. He cannot dwell.

Then, a sudden commotion outside of the house. A rougher bunch, haughty and full of mixed voices. The sound travels through the front door, filling the halls and reaching out towards the other rooms until, finally, they get to him. The Captain stands alert, stick at the ready, prepared to meet the German foe of the afterlife. For a brief moment, he wonders if the Devil has finally come to get him.

"New guy!" A man...ape?...man-thing screamed triumphantly, then he squinted his eyes, approaching the Captain cautiously, going as far as to sniff him. "Nah, false alarm, just moustache man."

Moustache man was frozen in shock, "Wh- who- who- good Lord, what are you?!" he exclaimed in sheer terror.

The others follow closely behind: an Edwardian woman with big hair, a younger and sweeter noblewoman counterpart, a medieval woman with an ashy face and a curly-haired man with long socks -- all with their own expressions in response.

"Oh my! The Captain is back!" The young girl squealed, her hands clasped together with delight as she twisted her shoulders. The Captain gazed at her, lips parted in shock.

"You must be quite confused, dear, as are we." The elder woman spoke, "My name is--"

"I am Thomas Thorne, sir, you may have heard of me through my poetry--" Interrupted the short man, voice filled with arrogance.

"Thomas! Spare the poor man, he's just died," She pleaded, but her speech haltered as she gazed at the Captain's sullen face. "Perhaps it would be more suited if you took a seat." She gazed at a plush chair that sat near the fireplace. The Captain wasn't sure if he could even sit anymore.

The five ghosts surrounded him and soon he began to learn what life after death really was. For some, it meant getting immediately transported to the unknown, a spirit of shining gold sent to the heavens; for others, whatever this is. It wasn't permanent, either, as Robin had reliably informed him.

"Ands I once had a dear friend, Annie, get sucked offs also," Mary added, voice a little too high and drawn out. "She hath come and go before all of us, per'aps thou will as wells, mhm, yeah." She looked around tentatively at the other ghosts as if seeking approval to speak.

The Captain feared the most logical key to moving on, resolution. He knew for as long as he shall live -- die? remain dead? -- he will yearn for his other half and never feel whole. It's not as if these loons will ever fill the gaping hole in his heart that crumbles and collapses all the more every second that passes. Instead, he is doomed to wander Button House, faced with his memories of his old station, for all eternity. That seems like Hell in itself.

Time moves slowly to begin with. The Captain watches the clock like a dog at the door, waiting for something and anything to bark at. He tries to stick to his daily regime, waking early to Fanny's scream and then proceeding with a run. Eventually, he makes good friends with the decapitated head of Humphrey Bone and debriefs regarding any suspicious activity on the front. As the months fly by, he starts attending the ritually agreed upon discussions, or Thomas' abrupt improvised poetry. Together, the ghosts watched Fanny's descendants move about the house, with young Heather tending to her sweet mother, who occasionally opens the House for events much like Victory Day.

Every day for the first few years, he wonders -- "Am I supposed to be grateful to be stuck in abeyance?" The world seems to taunt him, just him. The other ghosts are at peace. Every so often, he throws himself out of the entry gates to see if he really is stuck there, and every time the boundary throws him back in.

A decade later, the Captain has learned not to run from his ghostly friends, although he still hides from his shadows. He stops lingering at the gate, burying the urge to hurl himself through it and feel the impact of his body weight against the ground as it launches him back in. The cravings for food never stop and nor does the hunger of feeling alive, but he begins to settle. He learns much about the lives of his housemates and begins to feel a little less lonely. Thomas stops him and subjects him to war-inspired poetry, which he almost finds respectful had half of the poems not turned into strange love confessions for Lady Button's great-grandchild. That, she did not take kindly to. The former, however, before the love confessions, stirred a feeling of deceit within him. The images of frontlines and death that run around in Thomas' mind are a false reflection of him, but he fails to correct it, pathetically.

Fanny had recently taken to guarding her relation's bedroom from Thomas, which was annoyingly close to his own sleeping quarters. The bickering and rude disturbances send him to different areas of Button House, one that he refused to visit for a long time -- his former office, now a bedroom. After the war was over and he had passed, the Button family were able to continue their lives and began redecorating. His room was one of the first to go, with Heather's many unsuccessful love endeavours, she opted to move back in as a better option, nearly choosing his old room to reside in, but instead choosing the ground floor with the fantastic view. Cap could relate to that, being unlucky in love. He tries not to think of Havers too often, sometimes he's all he can think about, but his secrets must remain buried deep. No undead ghost must know what really happened that day.

In his desk drawers, before they were stripped of all things war, were entries from the Captain. Both professional and self-indulgent, regarding what occurred in Button House XI during its occupation. He remembers a rather fond record of a cricket match and Havers' unforgettable nature in the likes of both writing and picture. So reserved, well-mannered, so perfect. The Captain fears what has happened to those documents -- whether they have been shredded in shame of the blatant truth that lies upon the page, or if they have been kept and aired to both their families. Will the Captain's honour be trampled upon? His words misconstrued into a predatory, one-sided hunt for the soft, delicate meat of his Lieutenant? He will never know. He'd like to keep it that way. Peaceful, or ignorant, as he always was.

Part of him finds it funny; a ghost haunted by the living. James defies the laws of nature yet again. He curses himself a devil and suffers.

Once, he tried to make a soldier out of Thomas. The man only knew how to fight with his words, spiralling into melancholy poetry which ultimately rendered him locked into his fantasy, where none of the Captain's orders could reach him. Kitty and Fanny found his war obsession too brutish, with Kitty wondering why all of the men can't just "hug it out" or perhaps "kiss and make up", she giggled. For a moment the Captain was offended, but Katherine didn't know any better. He found himself jealous of her uniquely positive outlook but hid those feelings under the safety of laughing off naivety -- like a father does with his daughter.

"We didn't win a war with attitudes like that, now did we, Katherine?" The Captain said with a small smile, wagging his finger.

"I suppose not, but it's what I would do!" Kitty shyly looked around, as if she knew more than she should.

Robin liked hearing about the weaponry. Having worked in armaments research, the Captain was excited to share his bouts of knowledge on his favourite topic of all time. He felt a little less lonely walking the grounds with the diligent caveman until he saw a squirrel, then the conversation was lost. Still, the diverse selection of characters that the Captain was stuck with, made death seem like less of a chore. None were heroic, nor did they look down on him (not any more than they looked down on one another), he secretly felt as if he'd met his match. The Commanding Officer inside him feigned dissatisfaction often, like a defence mechanism he'd used his whole life in war to feel superior and in control. It was hard to admit that part of him was finally happy.

"There be a man!" Mary announced squeakily, gathering the attention of the ghosts.

"Man? Where man?! RUH. HRMG," Robin barked, like a dog to the postman, running to the window to peer at the grounds in front of the door. If he could smush his face against the glass and fog it up with his hot breath, he would.

The Captain's eyebrows raised in alert, "Right. Stand down, chaps," he cleared his throat and stood tall, swagger stick on the defence. Ready to strike. Not that he could. "Weapons of choice please!"

"BAZOOKA!" Robin shouted loudly. The Captain hummed in agreement.

"Uhh, um, a potato," Mary adds. She is given a questionable look.

"No, no, no! I will not have you making this house into No Man's Land," Fanny stressed. "Ah, but I suppose if I were forced to choose, it would be a- a... frying pan!"

"Excellent, Fanny. My choice is an Enfield, more specifically the Enfield No.2 Standard Issue Revolver. Small but deadly," The Captain gleamed, whilst Fanny rolled her eyes.

"Oh! Me next, me! ME!" Kitty ferociously interjects.

"Yes, Katherine," said the Captain.

"A unicorn!"

"No, Katherine."

At the time, only the Buttons' maid was home, and as the ghosts squabbled over their chosen weapons, they quickly forgot an invasion was imminent. The Captain's peace had gone uninterrupted for far too long. Death had other plans for him, wickedly rubbing its hands together in glee. Heavy shoes pattered on the wooden floorboards at the entrance, the maid stumbling over some sort of apology regarding disrespect, then her own footsteps leaving to another side of the house.

Havers took a deep breath. It was remarkably unchanged. The same red wallpaper, the same light fixtures, the same wooden floor that the Captain took his last breath on. The floorboards creaked under his feet in sad sigh of resignation. It was silent, everywhere, across all layers of their universe. In amongst the ghosts, it was like a pin had dropped. They were perfectly parted for the Captain to have a direct eyeshot of his Lieutenant. He'd stopped breathing much like he did all those years ago.

"My Lieutenant has returned," The Captain uttered breathlessly, knuckles turning white as his grip on his swagger stick stiffened. He stepped forward, gulping in shock and disbelief as if Anthony could see him.

The other ghosts respectfully made a swift exit. It felt as if his death day was upon him yet again. Ten years undone in a span of seconds, but it was evident on Havers' face that time had passed. His youthful glow had faded, replaced with a ruggedness that felt slightly uncanny to the Captain. There was a shadow of stubble that littered his face, alongside a few more creases indented in his skin. As Havers' eyes scanned the room, for a brief moment, unknowingly to him, he met the Captain's own eyes. For the first time in years, even when he was alive, he felt seen. There is no one else, no General, no Major, no higher-up that could ever grant the Captain such wholeness, just his Anthony and those deep brown eyes. His left one, unforgettably marked with fortitude, a harsh scar that contradicted the sweet look that typically rested on Havers' face, but it was not mismatched. Instead, it completed him, drawing the Captain closer. Today, however, his Lieutenant's sweetness turned poignant. Havers' fingers seemed to tremble, especially as one hand fell over his mouth, hovering over his slightly parted lips.

Upon arriving at Button House, Anthony had almost asked the driver to turn back. Seeing those doors, a mixture of fondness and nausea filled his gut; plagued with conflicting memories of good-natured camaraderie and the death of his dearest Captain. That and the heavy pang of denial and internalised hatred. He had spent years dwelling on the idea of returning but instead buried that yearning deep within him until he simply couldn't any longer. He had to come back, he had to find some form of closure in that empty room.

There was never any blood, not like he was used to in the trenches. He'd seen his men get their heads blown off right in front of him, heard the thud of detached limbs hit the ground, felt the blood splatter his face, and moved on with his life as best as he could. In war, all he could do was remember their names and keep their memory alive, men on the frontlines would always be honoured. He wasn't so sure who would remember his old Captain, who died in vain, humiliated and disrespected. During the war he was grateful his Captain found his place at Button House, he never feared the man would meet a gruesome end, yet he still managed to.

As the Lieutenant walks to that damned spot, his Captain walks with him. He sees every little expression that crosses his face in mere seconds, notices the texture of his skin, and holds his breath as his Adam's apple bobs. Anthony takes a knee, he lingers in the same spot he did on that very day, the rough hand from his mouth travels empathetically down his throat and onto his chest. He clutches his heart.

"You said you had to find me," Anthony began, his voice a gentle whisper, like the room was still filled with high-ranking military officers, like they were still a secret. "Part of me wishes you had never come."

The Captain stood still, his mind quiet, his heart in his throat. He daredn't open his mouth, for his love resided heavily on his tongue, dangerously close to spilling out. He burns again, aches. More than ever.

"Your death keeps me awake at night, most nights. More than the deaths I saw out on the field, and I cannot tell a soul. I've heard former soldiers recount the source of their nightmares and none of them come close to what I felt when you collapsed that day. For years, when I closed my eyes, there you were -- you consume me! This, whatever this is, is profound and heavy. I long for you. I have never forgotten the look on your face when we met again. I look for it in every man and woman I meet, I've searched high and low for even a shred of what we shared, I fought so hard to have it and I find myself back here. Where I left you, when you died and when I left to die.

I think I killed you. There was no weapon in my hands, so why when I look at them do I see blood, sir? It's a punishment for the feelings I buried deep. You were the last person that deserved to die, maybe if I hadn't drawn you here, you wouldn't have. The guilt follows me and this uniform has never been so ill-fitting. They called me a hero on that day but a real hero would've saved you. We could've run away together.

I'm getting ahead of myself here, I'm sorry."

"I wished to run away with you too, Havers." The Captain admits hoarsely, voice hushed and barely above a whisper. His throat is on fire, he has to stop himself from saying anything more.

His gracious, loyal Lieutenant fell silent. His breaths grow quicker, his beautiful face scrunches up in anger and despair. The Captain isn't sure how long he can keep watching before he gets swept under again. He spent all these years trying to heal and forget the man who once consumed his every waking moment and even appeared in his dreams. Anthony has changed. The young man that once stood before him in his office, eyes gleaming with optimism and vigour, high with the spirit of an unafraid warrior -- he is gone. The glory of war has died. His Lieutenant is left with both physical scars and mental ones. His eyes were slightly sunken, bags heavy with trauma, face wrinkled with terror as opposed to those gentle smile lines and the way his eyes would crinkle when the Captain made a rather poor attempt at a joke. He is scared to ruin his memory of his dearest Anthony, and despite all of the confessions, there's no excitement. The Captain feels sick.

"I came back to say what I always wanted to. I need salvation and I thought facing the shadow you left behind would give me a bit of peace. You can't even hear me. You aren't here, you haven't been since they pulled your body out of here on a stretcher. God, I don't even know where they buried you. I got too scared, more scared than I'd ever been at war. The looks, the whispers, the rumours. They all knew. I wish I'd let you tell me what you really wanted to say, perhaps then we could've died together. You, true to your heart and me, at the eye of a revolver."

Then Havers fell apart. His knees stung against the wooden floor but he could hardly feel it compared to the ache behind his eyes. His pale skin was flushed, the tan of North Africa long forgotten. Tears poured from his bloodshot eyes and the cries that he choked out were like that of a dog, chained by the neck at a post in the middle of nowhere. Havers spared a thought about the maid and what she must think, and then he grew angry that he ever even cared about what others thought. His Lieutenant collapses completely and the Captain steps back in shock. Soldiers were never open about their emotions and he'd always commended Havers for his calm and collected demeanour, to see him crumble and lose his composure felt so wrong. His reserved, admirable Lieutenant who never gave too much away, become this shell of a man.

"I died that day, too, anyway. Men who go to war never really come back. Cartwright killed himself a few years back. He'd left a note, detailing how mundane life was, how he searched for death and disaster in faces on the street, how the food in the fridge was still nothing but rations. He left behind a wife and daughter. All anyone could say was shame on him.

I am lost. My place was in the army, on the front lines, yes, but mostly with you. We did honest work. You were never bloodthirsty like the rest, and nor was I. Captain, sir, James...

I often yearn for another life, one where we'd met under different circumstances and I never ran away. So here I am."

The Captain had seen his Lieutenant smile, laugh, frown. He'd witnessed him take control when the Captain failed to, raise his voice and then turn to submit to his superior like it was nothing. He was patient, cool, collected, incredibly well-mannered and fiercely loved throughout his time at Button House XI. The younger boys looked up to him, laughed at his every joke, and fawned over his knowledge and rank. They even followed him to North Africa. Anthony was a charming, lovable, unforgettable man and here he was -- devastated and left in ruins by his own Captain. The self-hatred within him reared its ugly head. He has ruined Havers, poisoned him with his overly-romanticised fantastical ideals. Damned him.

Pain sears his skin, like a thousand hot needles stabbing him from all angles. The Captain swallows back his tears and prepares to do what all soldiers must -- carry on. To see Havers walk away after this heavy confession would kill him again. The abysmal downfall of his Lieutenant sends him into survival mode and he realises what he must do to stop himself from absolute self-destruction. He must walk away, and he does. Much like Havers on that godforsaken day a decade ago, he only looks forward and never back. He spots Robin and Kitty chasing a butterfly outside and for a moment he forgets why he was upset in the first place. The scars his second-in-command left him with run far too deep and he tries to let him go.

He dashes out of the room, eager to bury his feelings once and for all. Forever.

"Robin! I must tell you about the time a lad from my regiment brought back a bazooka. Schmidt was his name, a rather skittish young man, not one I'd have trusted with such a weapon, but you see--" The Captain rambles, desperate to distract himself. The caveman and the younger noblewoman secretly roll their eyes.

"What even is a bazooka?! You boys talk an awful lot about these violent weapons, I'd rather hear about something fun," Kitty whined. She batted her eyelashes at the Captain sweetly.

"Well, I suppose you might enjoy the stories of camaraderie a bit more, but were you not there throughout my placement at Button House? You must have seen it all!" The Captain expresses, finding the subject come dangerously close to his Havers.

Thankfully, the conversation transpires, quickly detaching itself from war and for once the Captain isn't desperate to put it back on track. They wander further across the grounds, bouncing from story to story. Kitty tells one of her youth with her sister, which Robin and the Captain share a concerned look about but say nothing. Robin follows up with a story about his own sister, interrupted by a grating voice that echoes from behind them.

In the near distance, the outline of Thomas frantically waves his arms as he gets closer. "I say, Captain!" Thomas called out, "I come baring rather unfortunate news, sir."

The three of them all turn to face the failed poet, who now stands before them with his hands on his knees, breathless from the run. "Just give me a moment." He proceeds to take several breaths as they all share a look.

"Well? Spit it out, man," The Captain orders impatiently, his swagger stick tucked under his arm.

There is a soft pause as if Thomas is unsure. He looks nervously at the ground, looking slightly out of character. He maintains good composure and clasps his hands together as he speaks, "Your friend, Captain, it seems he has died." Thomas uttered, clenching his teeth awkwardly as he looked at both Robin and Kitty to see how they'd take the news.

Again, the Captain's heart fails. His breathing comes to a standstill, eyes wide in anger and disbelief. For a split second, he wonders if a second heart attack is imminent. Surely not, he thinks. His Anthony cannot have perished. It had been minutes, he'd hardly turned his back on him. Havers was a man of war, not a coward like himself, for him to be a victim to Button House would surely mean foul play.

"You what, man? What the bally hell do you think you're playing at, pulling a prank on me like that!" The Captain spat, taking a step towards Thomas with a dark look washing over his usually soft features. He briefly turns to the caveman, face struck with confusion. "Impossible... Robin, what time is it?"

"Uhhh, sun was there in sky, now it there! So like, 3:24pm." Robin grumbles, shrugging.

It's been over an hour already. He left his Lieutenant alone to let him go, not let him die.

Thomas scoffed, clutching his pearls. "How dare you? I do not kid! I saw him myself, that soldier man, splayed out on the floor like a rag-doll." Truth be told, the Captain didn't hear a single thing said over the ringing in his ears. The world starts to spin.

"No, no, no! You are one sick man, Thorne. I should thrash your bottom sir! I refuse to be part of such horseplay, apologise at once." The pair come face to face, Thomas staring at Robin with pleading eyes as he backs up on firm feet so profusely he's practically in a back bend.

"Thrash my bottom? Well, I bite my thumb at you, yes!" Thomas challenges the Captain, who looks down on him with the sharpest glare he'd ever seen from a man he'd previously regarded as an easy duel. "Never mind, perhaps not. Regardless, I beg of you, do look for yourself before assuming me a fabulist!"

"Very well," The Captain squints his eyes, knocking Thomas aside slightly as he storms indoors. He walks, then he does a light jog and before he knows it he's running like he's on the frontlines himself.

"Is it really true the Captain's friend died?" Kitty asks inquisitively.

"Yes, of course! When have I ever lied?" Thomas whines. Robin lets out a laugh and he is shot a look by the poet. "It is rather tragic. Button House claiming another life, almost like this house lives at the price of our mortal souls." He gasps, and Robin and Kitty start walking away as soon as they see that wondrous look appear, which was gone as soon as it came. Thomas babbles to himself, ignorant of the chaos that has begun to unfold in the house of terrors. "I, Button House, thrive on the--"

As the Captain arrives, he spots the ambulance outside and feels his knees grow weak. Flashes of his own death come to mind, especially as he sees the paramedics exit Button House with a stretcher. There is a white sheet atop it, something long and lumpy underneath. Not his Lieutenant, it can't be -- whatever it is, it is not human. Then he sees an arm fling out from under the sheet, sleeve, an army green and hand, pale. The Captain gulps, mouth falling open in horror as he struggles to deny it any long. His blood hasn't felt warm since he died, but it somehow runs cold. A whimper escapes his lips, small and pathetic.

Police sirens wail in the distance. The Captain glances towards the maid as she takes a seat on the doorstep, dabbing a handkerchief to her mouth, her eyes red and swollen. She looks how he feels and he hates her. It burns him from the inside out that she can express herself so brazenly. She dares to mourn the man he loved. His Anthony. No, he refuses that to be true, trudges his way to the ambulance and finds himself going through the doors as they close them on the world. Whoever is under that white sheet, is not him. Anthony is supposed to live.

Just because you won't admit something to yourself, doesn't make it any less true.

When they pull back the white sheet, death stares him in the face. His Anthony is still warm, eyes still puffy from crying, lips just starting to dry. Those beautiful brown eyes are hidden away by his closed eyelids like a lost treasure and he almost looks like he's asleep. Havers seems blissed out by the peace of death and it confuses his Captain who has never seen him so up close. He wants to hold him, tell him everything will be okay, caress that sharp jawline and run his thumb through the dip in his chin. Anthony does not move an inch; his lips grow blue, his chest does not rise, his throat does not move. They throw the white sheet back over his face. He is gone.

"Excuse you, this is Major Anthony Havers, a brave man who served on the North Africa front to keep you oafs alive, damnit!" James' voice grows loud and shaky. It breaks, goes up a pitch, and separates itself entirely from who he thought he was. He hardly recognises himself. "Take him back inside at once, stop this madness. Please, please... My Lieutenant is not dead!"

"He's a veteran, right? It's probably suicide," One paramedic speaks, unaffected.

"Absolutely not, man!" James shouts, nostrils flared in a fiery rage.

"Yeah, I hear they're dropping like flies in that field. It's awful. My father has gone to at least four different funerals over the last couple of years." The other answers, looking down at Havers with pursed lips. "Right, let's get this one to the morgue. Havers, the maid said his name was, right?"

They are paramedics and just like soldiers they are capable of displacing their humanity to make the shift more bearable, but it kills him. No reaction is good enough for the Captain, it never will be. He thrashes his arms about at the white sheet, furiously trying to break through the ghostly barrier just to take one final look at his love's face before they take him away. He can't attend the funeral, nor bless him with a few corny words or visit his gravestone to confess his truth. He saw the last of Havers when he left, now he really is gone forever.

"Anthony Havers! His name is Anthony Havers and he deserves far more respect than this," the Captain stomps his foot and then promptly covers his mouth to stop a whimper from exposing him as he cries. As the driver turns the ignition on, the Captain reluctantly steps out of the vehicle. "You can't be gone, you simply can't be."

Because not everybody moves on. He certainly didn't -- and the penny drops. Perhaps James can return his swagger stick, and tell Havers how much he cherishes him, finally, they could say something out loud. He thinks of his Lieutenant, how brave he was, but even the most heroic must be terrified in death. Dazed, confused, scared -- questioning their religion and what they dedicated their lives to. Anthony Havers is inside Button House. He must be.

It's a rush. A thousand thoughts swarming in his mind and he doesn't have time to stop and think because the ghosts could be hounding his Lieutenant inside as he speaks. He runs fast, darting through the door without that annoying undead reflex of trying to open it. His line of sight blurs and the pure adrenaline running through his veins makes him question how dead he truly is. He longs to meet Anthony's doting brown eyes again, and watch them widen in surprise as they did all those years ago. What happened to them? Always meeting under such tragic circumstances. He turns the corner and the Captain stops in his tracks.

He scans the room.

Anthony Havers is not there.

The only ghosts in there are ones he's become very familiar with. The sirens outside have finally stopped and Fanny holds Humphrey's head in her hands as they nosily stare at the commotion outside.

"Where is he?!" The Captain speaks brusquely. The desperate anger in his voice is evident as the ghosts look at each other in concern.

"Who?" Mary asks from the window, a small smile on her face.

Anthony. His eyes water as they fall to the ground and he blinks heavily, "My Lieutenant, of course!"

Mary jumps slightly, clasping her hands together as she tries to placate the Captain. "Oh. Wells, you see, I was passin' the doorway, umm, when the little arms on the clock was on the one, two, erm... three lines, yeah, and the big 'er arm was just after, ands I did but see a light! I thought 'tis was the devil so I did run--" Mary over-explained, clearly apprehensive of the army man's temper.

"What she's saying is, your friend moved on!" Humphrey interposed. There's a grating positivity to his voice that makes the Captain want to decapitate him all over again.

He burns. "No..." The Captain mutters to himself, dark grey brows knitted together in utter devastation.

Kitty squeals like the happy-go-lucky girl she is. The Captain's usual admiration is replaced by anger, which builds inside him more and more. "Oh, that's wonderful news! How delightful, he gets to see what comes next. Are you not happy, Captain?"

Soldiers do not cry. They shriek and scream and tears may fall from their eyes but they do not cry. When did he become so weak? His grief crawls beneath his skin, scratches at his throat, clasps around his brain and squeezes. He bleeds silently, thinks of Havers at the frontlines and the sacrifices that were made, the commands howled by a top-ranking officer as his limbs get torn off by gunfire and James remembers to be brave like he never could be. Men of war cannot afford to spiral or the rest of the troops will too, so he fixes his posture. These ghosts will not lose respect for their Captain. He will be the army man they deserve. Be the man Anthony Havers was supposed to be for him.

"Well, I..." He pauses and maintains composure.

"Kitty, sometimes things are a bit more complex than that. I think the Captain might just miss his... friend." Fanny does not look at the Captain as she speaks, he does not ponder if that is out of pity or contempt.

The Captain shook his head, standing tall to feign professionalism. "No, perhaps it's for the best. None of you witnessed his death? Humphrey?"

"Nah, somebody left me in the east wing. I won't name names, Robin."

Robin waved his arms about frantically, "Nu-uh, wasn't me, was other caveman called... Fobin."

"Well I found the body, you are welcome!" The poet huffed dramatically.

Just how many times must I let him go?

"Very well. Havers is gone. Perhaps we should hurry along now, young Heather and her mother will return soon."

The ghosts all nodded in agreement. They grow weary of the Captain's change of heart and decide not to press any further. From every era each ghost came, not one was ever taught that men could be upfront about their emotions. Thomas was the closest they came, but even he only openly wailed because of rejection, keeping his true feelings of loneliness for the long nights near the lake.

Being a grieving ghost was akin to that of being a vampire. Immortal, unfeeling, awake in the dead of night to roam the halls and bloodlust so strong it could break the barrier between the living and dead. He is anger, red-hot and burning from the inside out until his exterior is reduced to melted nothingness. The bloodlust pulses behind his eyes for a while and he dreams of things he'd never seen with his own eyes -- things that Havers likely had. He wants someone to pay for what Havers did, and dreams of putting a gun to a man's temple and firing, but the man never has a face until he shoots. Himself. A smoking hole, clean, no blood, at the side of his head and he wakes up in a sweat. Tells no one. Cannot speak of these things. Will not, must not. Sometimes it's Havers instead of him and he can't leave his bed.

Grief mocks the Captain. As the weeks pass by, he yearns to feel dirty, unwashed, physically changed by his heartache, but it never comes. Stubble does not grow in and shadow his face, his hair does not lengthen, and his eyes do not look any more tired than they did the day prior. His suffering is futile. He takes a break from his daily regime and instead stares out of the very window he did all those years ago and allows his mind to wander rather than his legs. James reflects, ruminates, obsesses. He thumbs the end of his swagger stick, thinks of Anthony's hands wrapped around it and craves to absorb its memories of being by his Lieutenant's side when he couldn't. His jaw tenses. He tries to choose healing over self-destruction, brands his palms with the crescent shape of his nails, bites his tongue. At night, he holds the stick to his chest and pretends he never died.

Time passes, just as it did after he died and the world moves on. Button House creaks a little more than it used to and the Lady of the house passed, leaving the not-so-young Heather in charge. Fanny was reserved with her own grief, as opposed to the Captain's evident short temper and isolation. He feels embarrassed and longs to offer Fanny some comfort but the love he has for Havers is still stuck in his throat, so he says nothing besides offering his commiserations. As the ghosts meet Pat, a scout leader, then Julian, a rather disgraced MP, they soon forget the Captain's loss. He becomes a respected army man with his own secrets, their only disdain being his perfected art of commanding. It suited him perfectly.

Meeting Patrick healed the Captain little by little. That gentle demeanour and lighthearted nature opposed the rough camaraderie he saw in his former years. Pat was kind and warm, soft enough for the Captain to bark orders at and actually see them followed. A good soldier. Although, he'd seen him in his dark days, early on as he watched his family mourn him, met eyes with a gloomy scowl from an otherwise chipper man. It felt nice to finally relate to somebody. Pat worked with kids, he was in no position to undermine the honest work the Captain did.

James is still bitter. Before Julian arrived, Pat gained the courage to ask about his life and his death and suddenly his fears came rushing back to him. The scout leader punched his arm lightly, thanked him for his service and spoke of his own grandfather's dealings of war. He nattered on and on, speaking of his reserved nature and what horrors he had seen. Anthony crosses his mind. James blinks.

"You lot are heroes y'know!" Pat grins, voice filled with sincerity.

The Captain's heart drops. "Yes, well, I suppose we are--" He pretends he is speaking on behalf of those who cannot, but remembering that fateful day, that sneer from Cartwright and the looks of disgust even as he lay there dying, he remains the ugly duckling. "They are."

Nobody can know he's a phoney, not even Pat. As you get older, you are supposed to stop caring what others think, but even in death, the Captain finds himself swamped with insecurity and worry. If the impressive scout leader saw his weakness, what would he think of him? Would he look down his nose at the Captain just as Cartwright did? He doesn't plan on finding out.

Julian was certainly a distraction. The fundraiser on his death day had the ghosts sniffing out all sorts of conversations. Mary found herself baffled by the posh accents and MP-talk (which was more locker-room talk than anything), turning to Pat to ask what every other word meant. Kitty ran around high on the thought of her "new friends" but grew bored by their mean and petty conversations. Lady Button stood in the corner, lips pursed, silently pretending she was at a gathering like in her youth, not that she would ever admit that. It was Robin who instigated the hunt on Julian, watching him and Lindsay flirt over a bottle of champagne.

"These two so gonna bone, heh," Robin announces to the other ghosts.

The next thing they know they're all in silent agreement of following the two upstairs. They hear the giggles and gasps of a woman inside until it becomes inappropriate to listen to.

The Captain glances awkwardly at the wall, doing his usual throat-clearing and nose sniff to avoid the scrutiny of unwelcome perceptions. "Well, I think we have out-stayed our welcome. It seems they are... busy."

"What are they doing in there? Can I see--" Kitty interjects innocently, before Pat jumps in front of her, arms wide with the intent of shutting her idea down immediately.

"No, nope! Let's go back down with the Captain, shall we, Kitty?" Pat pleads, ushering her towards the stairs, overcome with fatherly instincts.

They are cut off by the scream of a woman and a man without trousers walking through the door. Fanny rolls her eyes, as if to say here we go again. The other ghosts seemed to join her in her indifference, the Captain included, watching him run through the gates and get thrown back in.

"We've all done it, ha!" The Captain says with a grin.

Safe to say, Julian shook up the dynamics slightly. After he got over his death, his crude humour and endless stories entertained the ghosts over the years, alongside Pat's creative nature and ability to make up random, child-like games. They made quite the team, being the latest additions and equipped with modern knowledge the original ghosts only got a glimpse of from Heather. Things started to look up. The Captain would forget his pain, most days.

James has begun to mellow.

After Heather passed, and the Captain baggsied her room, he soon learned it wasn't meant to be. With Fanny's ear-piercing screams, they decided swapping would be for the greater good. Despite the fact he'd been waiting years to claim that gorgeous garden view, who was he to deny the greater good? It always ends up circling back to him. Now, he was doomed to his former office, dreading the moment he'd have to step foot in there, but rather than being filled with dark thoughts, or with deep despair running through his veins, he smiled. That same wallpaper that had seen his every mood, the same wooden doorframe he'd held in amidst a conversation with Havers in which he tried to look cool, the ceiling he'd look up to at night. A smile plays on his lips, it's small but his eyes still crinkle at the sides. The Captain walks to where his desk used to be, and stares expectantly at the door waiting for his Lieutenant to knock. Alone, together, in a room upstairs with the door closed. James always hoped Anthony would forget something -- a pen, paperwork, anything. Anything for more time, but he never did. He was too reliable, too courteous to ever cause inconvenience. Alas, the hourglass has run out and their time together came to a close. This was home, now and forever. He thinks of his mother, how she must be long dead. Havers was right about soldiers never coming home from war.

In the present day, they have Alison and Mike to contend with. They allied with the enemy forces and became a powerful unit of them versus the world. The Captain finds himself growing fond of Alison, similarly to how he feels about Kitty, and finds that her charm and ability to offer war documentaries, has landed her as a top-ranking soldier in his books. She brings new excitement to the ghosts' undead lives, new people and new experiences. Her kindness brought each ghost something only they can treasure, like language, books, music, friendship, chess and a timed lap around the grounds of Button House.

It's a Sunday, the Captain darts around the corner, desperate to beat his record of 2 minutes and 29 seconds (nobody had the heart to tell him it was still 2:30). He'd done extra stretches this morning, a full body shake as well and cracked his knees several times as if he had something to prove. He sees the sun peak through the clouds and feels peaceful, a sign today will be a good day.

Alison taps the timer with her thumb, closing the door behind the Captain as he comes to a graceful stop. He looks at her excitedly, like a dog wagging its tail. "It's 2..." She looks at Pat, who gives her wide eyes, "2... 29 still, Cap!" She sheepishly smiles.

"Blast! Perhaps I set off too late." The Captain mumbles, twiddling his moustache in thought. "Very well, thank you, Alison!" He grins before turning on his heel to enter the front room.

"Oi, Cap!" Pat calls out, waddling behind him. "Today I'm thinking, we hold off on Food Club and instead implement something I like to call -- How I Would Survive an Apocalypse! ... club."

The Captain purses his lips and looks at his friend curiously, "Is this apocalypse like a war?"

"Ah, well, sort of! Do you remember the zombie film Alison put on the other day?"

"Yes... those undead monsters with their half-decayed flesh and only functioning desire being to kill. Reminds me of the Germans," The Captain says, as serious as ever. He holds his swagger stick at his side and squints his eyes, forever on duty.

"I suppose you could pretend they were German zombies. Well, not German, just Nazis. You know, Carol and I once had German neighbours. Great currywurst." Pat responds, staring sheepishly at the Captain from the corner of his eyes, daring to defend the Germans.

"Mm," The Captain hums in thought. "Splendid! I shall be attending your apocalypse club, Patrick. I have some fantastic ideas for weaponry and I know just the place to gather the cavalry!" He finishes with a grin.

"Right-O! I shall spread the word. Later, mate," Pat gives a two-fingered salute, walking off presumably to recruit Fanny or Kitty.

In the room, Julian sits in his usual seat, eyeing up the chess board which has an unfinished game atop it, though Robin does not sit at his side. He is in deep thought, bare legs crossed, fingers placed together in an arch shape against his lips, eyes squinting as he hunches over the chair slightly.

"Say, Captain, are you any good at this chess malarkey? The old ape has gotten rather sneaky lately and I'm not about to lose to someone who shagged his own sister." Julian inquires, eyes not bothering to tear from the board.

Ignoring the latter half of the question at hand, the Captain steps forward to analyse the board. He sees that Julian is one move away from being in check, with Robin's knight coming daringly close to regicide. There's still a queen available for defence, but it's slightly out of line, still leaving Julian vulnerable to attack. He needs to take out the knight in one move. There's another chess piece, the Captain forgets its name, and how it can move. Maybe it can help. Anthony would know.

He blinks. "Sorry, Julian, chess never was my strong suit. Though it was popular in our recreational time, I was often held up in my office."

Julian muttered something distasteful, but the Captain paid it no mind. He and Anthony had only ever played together once. His Lieutenant was a man of many skills, chess being one of them. It appeared he played sparingly, droving up lines of soldiers, hungry for victory. He was modest with his wins, of course. The Captain took note of his outstanding perspicacity.

"Jolly good, Havers! Excellent strategy, as always," James chirped with glee, in awe of Anthony's consistently impressive nature.

"Thank you, sir," Anthony responds, bowing his head bashfully. He was never one to be shy. James watches as Anthony shakes hands with his opponent, who looks defeated and dismisses himself. "Perhaps you'd like a game?"

The Captain grows nervous. His heart pounds in his chest, "Ah, well, you see, Havers, I--"

"You always tell me to be at ease, sir, but it feels as if you never are." Havers looks him in the eyes and holds his gaze. It's not a challenge of power, nor an upstaging. There's a glimmer of concern that James can't forget. "Please."

How could he possibly say no? He couldn't. "You are very adamant. Very well, I shall allow it. 1900 hours, tomorrow evening, say?" The Captain hopes his moustache disguises his giddy smile, and prays that he doesn't seem too eager.

Tomorrow comes as quickly as he prays it would, and they play. It's intimate for the Captain, who laid awake that previous night envisioning it as a date and deluding himself that it would end in a forbidden confession. Watching Havers set up the board, he feels sick. It's after hours and his jacket hangs on his chair unprofessionally. He feels naked without it, with James in the room and the Captain elsewhere. His hair is still in place, being as he fixed it, especially for his guest, but he still feels like a walking mess. His suspenders start to feel tight as his chest expands to take a deep breath as his eyes admire the relaxed Lieutenant in front of him, who places the chess pieces in their rightful place without a thought.

"Come, sit," Anthony beckons. The Captain obeys.

As they sit, James realises just how small the table is. Their knees briefly brush up against each other and a gasp almost escapes his lips. He glances at Havers, who chuckles at the storm of muttered apologies that fills the air between them.

"You're nervous," His Lieutenant eyes, hands against the table. "Does my reputation proceed me, sir?"

"Hah, yes, that's it." That's a lie, probably the second biggest he's told.

"I promise I'll go easy on you," He grins and James can't help but shyly smile back. "When was the last time you played?"

"Good Lord, a while ago now," The Captain says thoughtfully. "I like to watch you play when I can, it's far more enjoyable."

"Lucky for you, you have a front-row seat. Care to make the first move?" Anthony speaks with elegance and competitive grace. The Captain watches the cogs in his mind whirr and admires the artist over the art.

"Please, you first, I insist."

Anthony moves a pawn forward. The Captain has no idea if that's a legit strategy or just a random decision. He realises he knows nothing and even if he did, his mind is too full of Anthony to even care. His brown hair, typically slicked to the side with pomade, drapes over his forehead. It makes him look younger. Anthony's sweet brown eyes stare at him inquisitively and he realises he's distracted by the opposition.

"Ah, that one there. Remind me of its name, will you?" The Captain asks.

"That's the rook sir," His Lieutenant responds, articulate and without sign of judgement.

"Rook! Like the bird. Excellent. Say, Havers, did you know that rooks and jackdaws often flock together? Two social species befriending each other and nesting like next-door neighbours. Delightful, isn't it?"

Anthony looks at him with gentle glee. "That's very interesting sir, sounds quite like us. Rooks mate for life, don't they?"

"Yes, they do."

The game of chess had begun and it was over quicker than the Captain had liked it to be. His Lieutenant won, with ease and oh-so politely. He put James' king in check with a tender smile and kind eyes.

"I believe that's a checkmate, sir," Anthony teases, voice soft and sultry.

"Stunning work, Havers," James responds, ignoring the heat that rises to his cheeks.

They laughed, and shook hands at the end of the game as if Anthony hadn't let James cheat a few times. Safe to say he was terrible at chess, but he was grateful his second-in-command was always ten steps ahead. A reflection of a wonderful soldier, his better half. When they bid each other good night, James could've sworn he watched his Lieutenant linger, and he wished he had.

Alison snaps him out of his daydream with a frustrated grunt. She sits cross-legged on the sofa with her laptop resting on her knees, brows furrowed and lips pursed. "Mike!" She calls, placing the laptop to her side, impatiently waiting for her husband to enter.

"What's up?" The man calmly responds as he enters the room, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Did you ever--"

"HHHHRNNNNGGGG--" Julian carelessly interrupts, gripping his right wrist as he pushes his king with his index finger and begins to move it a space.

Alison closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, "Sorry, Julian is--"

"Oh! Is he doing the thing? I see it, the chess piece is moving! Go Julian!" Mike cheers, amazed.

"Thank you, Mike, nice to know I am apprecia-- HHHHRRNNGG,"

"Mike! Did you ever get a call back from that woman who wanted to rent out Button House for a gathering?" Alison asks, eyes narrow with suspicion.

"What? No, why?"

"Are you sure you rang the right number?" She tries not to say it in an accusing manner, but her tone does not placate him.

Ah, domestic bliss.

"I got it wrong one time! I definitely called the right number," Mike says sternly as he whips out his phone. He briefly turns away from Alison and the Captain creeps over his shoulder. His expression is telling, teeth grit together and eyes wide. He called the wrong number. "Yeah, definitely the right number, but I probably called at an awkward time so I'll just try again... now."

Alison sighs as Mike leaves the room.

"Oh, hey, Captain! I found something I think you'll really like."

He turns to face young Alison, who has her laptop back on her lap, flicking through tabs. Her face lights up as she turns the laptop towards him, "here!"

The Captain walks towards the screen, bending down and squinting only to see a black and white photo of his regiment whilst they were stationed at Button House. His dark grey eyebrows raise in surprise and his mouth parts as he sees faces he hasn't thought about in years. Stanley, Johnson, Martins, Clark, Allen, Lee... All frozen in time, in pictures he'd forgotten were even taken.

"I found them in the local online archives! I sort of spiralled off-topic in bed last night and fell down the World War II hole. That's you, up the top, near the middle, isn't it?" She gleams, eyes dancing over all of the old faces.

"Yes, and--" The Captain's voice grows quiet as he sees the man beside him. That full jaw, pink lips curved into a humble smile, that youthful, doe-eyed look into the camera. He hasn't seen his face in years except in his memory.

"He's cute," Alison smirks, pointing to the sandy-haired fellow.

"Cute, well, ah-- can't say I noticed!" The Captain fumbles, and Julian gives out a little cackle that he shoots a look at. "Yes, that is my Lieutenant, Havers." He is calm, his voice doesn't crack or waver. He speaks with just a hint of remembrance.

"He looks kind," She smiles.

"He was ever so kind," The Captain smiles too.

"I wanted to ask if I could get these printed, maybe frame them and put them in your room? Or out here on display!"

James' heart swells. "That would be lovely, thank you, Alison."

It has been over 70 years since his passing. Kitty taught him not to dwell on time so much, so he tries not to count exact numbers, but he and Anthony would have been long dead had they both lived and that brings him some peace. There is no more wondering what could have been, the potential is dead, and now in death, he can look Havers in the eye without feeling pain anymore. He no longer aches, nor burns, and whilst at his darkest hours he may still fantasise, he wakes up and moves on. There is no more endless torture, grief does not mock him, he has found family in his friends, both alive and dead. This is the life he truly wanted.

"I love finding pictures of you guys!" Alison remarks enthusiastically.

"What a boring hobby, finding pictures of dead people! You know, when I was alive, I enjoyed my swimming pool. Wink wink, nudge nudge."

"Julian, I am not building a swimming pool, for the last time!" She huffs, rolling her eyes.

"But it's a great investment! People love swimming and I love seeing ladies in bikinis, WIN-WIN."

Both Alison and the Captain make incoherent disagreeable noises and instead focus their attention on the caveman who just stumbled through the doorway with a toothy grin plastered on his face. He huffs with laughter, then glances at the three of them with a questionable look. "What?"

"About time, Robin. I haven't got all day," Julian says, tapping his wrist. Robin throws his arms out wide in annoyance then they both stop to point at each other as they laugh.

"Where have you been all morning, Robin?" Alison asks. "Chasing squirrels, I bet!" She glances to the Captain and laughs, he joins her, eager to feel included.

"Squibbel? Nah, only man in woods." Robin says calmly as he sits down opposite Julian.

"Eh?!" Julian exclaims. "An illegal squatter?"

"Sorry, a man in the woods?!" Alison exclaims, a horrified look on her face.

"Yeah, you know, man in woods! I say it before, not my fault no one listen." Robin says sassily, crossing his arms.

The Captain twists his swagger stick into a fighting stance, looking around suspiciously. "Good Lord, this isn't good. The enemy knows our terrain, Lord knows how long he's been watching us, learning our schedules. We must deal with this expertly--" He stresses, pacing around in attentive thought.

"Calm down, Rambo. Heheheh," Julian snickers before glancing at Robin.

"Dun get it."

"Robin it's Rambo for crying out loud!"

Alison chimes in, "Robin, did you say you were chasing the man? As in, he could see you?"

"Yeh, he don't like me. Always run away screaming go AHHH AHHH," The caveman responds, imitating the screams wildly.

There is a twinkle in Alison's eye as she speaks, "So we either have a trespasser who can see ghosts or another ghost on our hands! I need to check this out. You coming?" She refers to the ghosts.

Robin is preoccupied with analysing the board and Julian is carefully watching him, leaving the ready Captain. "I shall come with, for protection, of course. He may be a German."

"I... don't think I need to worry about that, Captain, but sure, thanks."

As they exit the doorway, Robin mutters about 'dooka dooka', which reminds the Captain. "Ah, Julian, move your rook, sir!"

There's a triumphant roar and the Captain can only guess he's put the 'tory' in victory.

Alison puts on her jacket and briskly opens the door with ardency. The Captain follows a few paces behind, filled with apprehension. He wields his swagger stick like a baseball bat as he analyses the land, eyes peeled for any suspicious movement. As they head to the woods, he grows anxious, wishing Robin had been a little more precise about the man in question, like who he was or what to expect.

He stops in his tracks. "Stand down, Alison, perhaps we should get the others?"

"What, you scared, Cap?" She teases, and glances at him with a grin before turning back to the forest edge with a quicker pace.

"No, don't be ridiculous!" The Captain shouts after her. "I'd rather not see you hurt."

She levels with him, staring up at him with big, bright eyes. "That's sweet, Captain, but if he's a ghost, I think you have more to worry about than I do."

"And if he isn't a ghost?"

"Then you can scare him off with your... army man stuff!" She shrugs, continuing onwards.

"Right, steady the buffs. We must lay low, Alison, the enemy has the utmost advantage here. With camouflage comes the element of surprise. We should expect him to come from any angle," The Captain warns, rambling becoming all the more militia and incoherent as they get deeper into the woods. He has Alison's back.

"Oh, there! Excuse me, sir!" Alison shouts into the distance, but the Captain can only see a flash of green. "My name is Alison, I own Button House. Please, we-- I just want to talk!" She jumps over various sticks and follows the man hastily.

"You there, surrender now or face the wrath of my Lee Enfield!" The Captain orders, holding his swagger stick like a pistol. The man stops dead in his tracks, James smirks and huffs out a small laugh of disbelief, proud that the enemy obeyed.

"Hold on, Captain, he's dressed like you," Alison says, bewildered.

Then the man turns around. There is a hum in the air.

In that very moment, his whole world shattered. It was no longer a moving blur as army green filled his senses. The Captain lowered his stick, brows furrowed, mouth bone dry. He blinked profusely like he was seeing things. He had to be seeing things, but as he steps forward, even in a forest of greens and browns, his Lieutenant is as clear as day.

There he is. Anthony Havers, frozen in time. He's handsome, more handsome than he's ever been if that's even possible. The Captain's stomach does a flip. His sandy-brown hair is slicked neatly to the side, unveiling that glorious scar that darts through his eyebrow and down his cheek. His deep brown eyes are pooled with an array of emotions, just like they were in 1945. He's a remarkable image of that very day, across the grounds with that same quiet look of surprise, like he can't give too much away. He stares at the Captain like a deer in headlights.

"Anthony..." James whispers on approach. His heart hurts again.

"James..." Anthony responds, his parted lips forming into the most tender smile he's ever seen.

His Lieutenant's eyes fall to the swagger stick, clutched tightly in his hands, then back up to meet the Captain's own eyes. His eyebrow twitches with emotion, much like it did the day he watched James die, and the sun through the trees hits him just right, capturing his picturesque beauty in its rays. They inch closer to one another.

"Do you two know each other?" Alison intervenes shyly, glancing at Havers before gasping. "Oh my god, it's your Lieutenant! The kind one." She senses the tension and excuses herself. "I'll be back at the house if you need anything, Cap." She'd place a caring hand on his shoulder if she were able, but instead, she just nods thoughtfully before exiting quietly.

There's a pause. The world falls silent. It is just them.

"Glad to see you still think of me highly, sir," Anthony speaks, his voice is smooth and lulling. He's still professional, maintaining that boyish charm he always had.

"At ease, Havers, we are dead after all," is all the Captain can manage.

"Of course. Still sporting that old thing?" Havers jokes coyly. It gives James butterflies, fondly reminding him of their secret dynamic -- so secret even they weren't sure what was real and what wasn't.

The Captain gulps, worried he'll get tongue-tied out of embarrassment, "Couldn't let go of it if I tried." His voice is softer than he intended, raw and unadulterated.

They hold each other's gaze, unable to look away. The buzz in the air is intoxicating and they can't help but get drunk on it. Oxytocin floods their veins, overrides their nervous systems and takes the reigns. They reminisce their times in Button House in a number of seconds: the wistful smiles, the intense longing, overbearing pining -- flirting in the safety of nods and salutes. No man could suspect it, they could not love boldly or openly, so they buried it. All they had were their words, the double meanings and the hope that the other could sense the weight of what they meant.

Until now, alone in the forest. There is nobody around, no one to stop them.

"I want to hold you, can I hold you?" Anthony pleads, knees weak.

"Yes, yes, please," James begs, voice breaking.

Rushing with pure base instinct to be held, they almost fall into each other, yet they do not fumble. Their ghostly limbs intertwine with such force, almost to prove they're still here. Anthony stretches around the Captain, makes the inches of height between them feel like feet, and glides his palms around every part of him. Up the material of his chest, across the lapels of his blazer, down his arms and up again until he reaches around his back and holds him. It's scandalous. James is on fire and it is electrifying. His body does not think, it just acts, pulling his love closer to him as he rests his chin on his Lieutenant's shoulder, eyes closed to heighten all other senses. He feels everything. Anthony's cheek pressed delicately into his own shoulder, their bodies firmly against each other without a care for what was around them.

They are warm with love. The Captain runs a hand down Havers' back and feels how real he is. His other hand cradles the back of his head, fingers dancing through the soft hairs at his neck, all the way to the hard gel on top. His Lieutenant has returned yet again and he melts.

When they pull away, hesitantly, still gripping each other's arms, they find peace. Not once did they ever hug throughout the years they were stationed together, all they revelled in was the accidental brushing of limbs against each other. Knees under the chess table, fingers in the passing of paperwork, shoulder bumps in the tight hallways. They are both flushed with diffidence and the Captain observes how Havers' blush reaches the tips of his ears. It's cute, as Alison called him.

Anthony slips out of his grip and looks at him sheepishly. James is reminded of the day he returned and his expression grows firm.

"You shouldn't be here," James expresses, soft with dismay. "You were supposed to live."

Havers looks away and swallows. James briefly wonders if he's overstepped. "I tried," is all he offers.

"What happened to you, my brave Lieutenant? Where did your fighting spirit go?" The Captain's voice grows hoarse as desperation claws at his throat.

Havers shoots him a pained look. "Were you not there the day I died? I spoke out loud, I confessed my sins to you."

The Captain stands gingerly on his feet, he winces at the very mention of that day, overshadowed with the shame of walking away. It comes back in floods, those dead, hopeless eyes, pale skin, the words that stabbed him like a knife. I think I killed you too. "Balderdash! Do you really think yourself a sinner, man?"

The Lieutenant shakes his head dismissively, and sees straight through the Captain's inability to admit his presence, "I lost sight of everything after I lost you. Did you hear me that day?" He yells, his soft features torn apart with distress.

"Yes! ...and you broke my heart." James wept, he didn't even realise he was crying. "I couldn't bear to watch you crumble like that." He turns away. "I'm sorry I did that to you, had I known, I never would've..."

"Stop it! You didn't--" Havers sucks air through his teeth and takes a second to recollect himself. "Knowing you is what completed me. You say you heard me but did you really listen? I admired you, sir, your passion, your wholesome nature. The friendship, what we shared, is the realest thing I have ever felt. To know I got to live, and you, the mere, raw, beautiful essence of you was buried somewhere in mud -- I hated myself!" Havers was crying too, now. His thin brows knitted in hurt, brown eyes wide with tears and his nose red.

It stung, watching his Havers fall apart all over again like his own heart had split in two. Reduced to tears because of him, the feckless milksop who almost didn't come into the woods out of fear. James finally understands why Anthony walked away without looking back all those years ago. It's too hard to face him, too hard to be honest with himself. That quivering lip, framed on the face of a grown man, fills him with empathy. The angel and devil on his respective shoulders give each other dirty looks, and battle out which truth he shall offer. His angel decides enough is enough.

"Havers, I don't understand. Couldn't you see I was a coward?! My passion was limited to the confines of my office and the safety of the Button House grounds. I'm no Captain, hell, I could see those men look for your nod of approval when I barked orders. Do you think I'm blind? They ridiculed me and you pretended you couldn't see it because you pitied me."

There is a pause.

"I did not die out of pity for you, sir," His Lieutenant responds, glaring. It's as stern as the look he gave Cartwright when he snapped at him to fetch a medic.

The Captain knows when he is wrong. "I know, I'm sorry." He shrinks pitifully.

Anthony places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. The Captain glances up at him meekly, "I am not like you, Havers, I would run for the hills had they offered me a place on the frontlines."

"I know, and that's okay," Havers speaks. He does not smile, but his eyes offer a reliable serenity that relaxes the Captain.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"James," Anthony begins, holding both of the other man's shoulders with intent, the Captain reddens at the firm use of his name. "Do you know how many men I saw die on the front? How they cried for their mothers and begged to go home like a child. We are men, but we were children once too. I realised that on the battlefield none of that matters and it hurt me. We were nothing but flesh, extra time, a warning. Was I just flesh to you, sir?"

The surprise on the Captain's face transforms into an expression of serious sincerity, "Never. You are remarkable." James' eyes twinkle with reminiscence of every honest praise he'd watered Havers with over the years.

"Then we must understand each other. You are not just flesh to me. Why would I want you to end up as sacrificial meat?" Anthony speaks sternly, his brows furrowed, a gentle hand travelling along James' collarbone and caressing the exposed part of his neck, too shy to cup his face. "You were safe at Button House. Half the reason I could sleep at night was because I knew you weren't another limb in amongst the bodies, another half-blown off skull glued to the helmet with sticky ash and blood, another nameless, faceless part of the collective." His expression tightens, eyes squeezing shut as he glances away, reliving painful memories of his long-lost friends.

"But we must serve our country, surely?" Pathetic, is that all you can say for yourself, James? The Captain's voice collapses, filled with incertitude.

Anthony sees his weakness and he smiles, he beams with newfound confidence as he explores his epiphany. "To serve is to die, yes. Did you want me dead?"

"Havers, we must not speak of our duty like this." The Captain hushes, looking around with nervous eyes. He feels out of his depth.

"Our duty ended in 1945, sir. We won the war and even had we not, there was no guarantee I'd survive. These woods have disarmed me. I have been alone with my thoughts for far too long to feel scared anymore and to see you, here, spiritually, and corporeally. It's fate. Being soldiers brought us together as much as it kept us apart, but we are so much more than that."

Anthony glows with fervour and it's beautiful. He speaks with such conviction his words could bring a country to its knees, captivating and enthralling the ghostly chorus of army men that watch on. They exist solely in the Captain's mind, so he believes, like a jury ready to confirm his death sentence, their steady hands wielding knives to his back. He studies their faces, hollow, empty, devoid of compassion. They see their fellow soldier man, who killed for his country and demean him as nothing but a sick freak. That is not the army he wishes to represent.

The Captain stares at him, dumbfounded. His life's mission was being a soldier, Anthony chose to serve on the frontlines, how can they think like this? His superiors would be ashamed of them both, but they are all dead, and Anthony is right in front of him.

In the First World War, James was too young to be drafted, but he wasn't too young to start learning. Soon, his entire life as he'd known it changed into something so vast, with bombs raining down from the skies, all of the men in his life disappearing, watching his mother and all of her friends become widows one by one. The violence and torment, the everlasting worry of "Will I survive the night?". He prayed every day, 14 through 18 for the war to end, and that one did. Still, he'd settled into a career where he got familiar with the craft of weapons, panicked armourers and townsfolk hurrying to build all sorts to provide a sense of comfort and fortitude. James had found something he loved in amongst something he hated with a burning passion. He took pride in watching the weapons fire, but when they fired towards someone, he turned away. There was no admiring the craft, no measuring muzzle velocity, just pure brutality. It was true, he hated war but loved being the Captain.

After Havers passed, James struggled with his loneliness. When the ghosts asked him questions about himself rather than the war, he found himself changing the subject. He is confidential, but within that secret file, hidden away from the public eye, the Captain struggles to think what could even fill the page. His entire life was wasted on war and death. Once, in a soon abandoned game of "What I Would Do With My Life If I Could", he listened to all of the heartfelt stories of admittance from his fellow ghosts; how Kitty would've married, how Robin would've fought the bear and won, how Julian might've gotten sober and returned to his own life (he soon revoked that statement). As his turn got closer, his mind was blank. Those beady eyes watching him, patiently waiting for his answer and when his lips failed him and his throat closed, Pat scrambled to fill the empty silence. They skipped him that day, and the Captain realised he didn't have any other aspirations. Being an army man, he was taught to never think too far ahead, so he didn't. He lived day by day, schedule by schedule and not for a moment did he even think to fantasise about what he would do if war weren't a thing. He was always the Captain, never James.

Though, one deep-buried fantasy does come to mind. The rest intertwined with the thorny vines of war, seeping its poison into the forefront of the Captain's desires. Fantasies like; evening strolls with Havers, bumping into him at dinner, helping him handle his weaponry. The summer nights, muggy and sticky, with dreams of Anthony staying in his office after dark, and standing over him like an angel of darkness, lulling him into paradise. All with the background of war, trapped in their uniforms, haunted by the overbearing, watchful eye of the law. This daring, sinful chimaera was of another universe -- himself and Anthony, a teacher and a smith, living off of the land in a peaceful village. Women fawn over Havers and he creates an imaginary woman he's in love with who shares the exact qualities as James, it's their inside joke, a way to confess his love without getting in trouble. They have children, a daughter, maybe two, and they will raise her to be the strongest, bravest girl in the country. They grow old together, more than they already are and poke fun at their wrinkles. Then they die peacefully in their sleep, together, never having to wonder who died first. Not a moment spent apart. No loss, no missing each other, no tragedy.

That is James.

The Captain's lip quivers, he wants to laugh, almost wildly. His family of ghosts know him as the war-obsessed, strict and rigid Captain, a well of knowledge for all things military. Truthfully, his passion lies in armoury research, not in the war. The war took everybody he loved, Havers included. He remembers the night his Lieutenant left for the front, how he cursed the war and cried himself to sleep for the first time since he was a child. Back then, he prayed it would be over by Christmas, that he'd see the sweet return of his love, but it took 5 more years of angst and pining and with its end, the Captain met his own.

Loss would have killed him quicker had Havers died on the frontlines. Every night until they won the war, he found himself taunted by the fear of his Lieutenant's death. He nearly lost his job once, letting the letters stack up because his hands shook too much to open them. Only when the war ended did he sleep well, receiving a brief letter from Havers to confirm his survival. It's a blur, he's lost half of the words to the past, but he still remembers the most important parts. He reels in the memory of the indent of pen to paper beneath his finger when he traced it.

Captain,

I                          survived                                  see our victory!                                          I can't help but think of you                                   we did honest work.                       I                                   miss                            you                        see you soon.

Major (Lieutenant) Anthony Havers.

The next time they saw each other, the Captain's death day fell upon him.

"I'm not asking you to leave behind who you are, James. We may be forever bound by our uniforms but we fought a war to live, damnit! And I'd be one sad bastard if, even in death, even after winning a war for this country, I let anyone tell me who I can be. We were quiet for them, I ran away to North Africa for them, you died without saying what you wanted to say because of them. I refuse to be afraid any longer."

Anthony's hands fall to his own sides, heavy with anticipation. His brown irises dart back and forth, vigorously searching for an answer in the Captain's eyes. He blinks, shy of his outburst, his mind spiralling with thoughts of what the man before him must think of him.

All of these years, surrounded by forestry - encased in a sea of greens and browns that mock his uniform. He sees his fellow soldiers in them every day, envisions their looks of disgust and disapproval in the grooves of the bark, the holes that house new life transform into the dropped jaws of men like Cartwright, consumed with fear about what his Major had become. Havers has practised this conversation for years, rehearsing for his eventual ascent to heaven, what he would say to the Captain if he saw him again. It was a lot less messy in practice.

Havers was concise, purposeful and dutiful. He understood every twitch of the eyebrow, curl of the nose and how to correct it. The higher-ups liked him because he knew just what to say and how it should be said. He delivered all news with eloquence, and when appropriate, a drop of humour. Havers survived, not on the rations or his ability to fire a gun, but on the empty-stomach smoke of praise. He had war's most dangerous weapon neatly tucked in his throat; the ability to be charismatic. To captivate an audience.

Trees do not make a good audience. They don't start talking back until you've gone crazy, and he has. Marring his hair, tearing up his uniform, running at the trees and praying they were as solid as concrete -- all to fall through and return to his pre-dead self. His insides ache. He used to be a social chameleon, making himself big and red to get the troops in line, then rolling over to show his white belly to the men in charge. Now, he finds himself trembling, completely unsure of his Captain would say next.

"I was wrong. What I said earlier, asking where that brave soldier went. You never left," James' lips curl into a smile, his eyes squint fondly and Anthony finally feels like he is home.

Havers sighs with relief, exhaling a breath he didn't realise he was holding. Tension buzzes between them, but they don't reach towards one another. The Captain gulps shyly, admiring his Lieutenant's uniform. His eyes gloss over the medals and his heart swells with pride despite the stress he experienced as Havers toured each country. He is a pinnacle of their time, an exemplary soldier that the Captain is always going on about. Those soft, rosy cheeks contrasted by the masculine grey stubble that decorates his face. He is beautiful, powerful.

The ghosts are going to love him as much as he does.

Unanswered questions linger between them, but the tranquillity that surrounds them drowns it all out. In this moment, they have defied all realms of impossibility and flipped it on its head in a brave act of devotion. Their incessant, unfaltering yearning has dealt them a new hand of life together, in a realm where time does not exist. They have forever.

"Perhaps... you'd like to join me inside Button House?" The Captain asks coyly, turning his head to see the manor in its entirety.

Anthony pauses, a flash of fear in his eyes. "I haven't been in there since I died."

The Captain meets his eyes, his face alone tearing Anthony out of his discomfort, "I'm with you now, Anthony. We will make new memories to fend off the bad. What do you say?"

His Lieutenant nods, "But, what about the beast?"

James looks at him quizzically before realising what he meant. "Hah! You mean Robin? He's harmless," He laughs, beginning his journey towards Button House. "and also fantastically good at chess."

Anthony walks by his side, brows furrowed in curiosity. "Is that so?"

"Indeed. There's more where that came from, too."

"Please do enlighten me, sir."

"Very well, follow me. You see they are wonderful company once you get to know them, albeit a little slow at times and uneducated in the craft of war-time weaponry from 1939-1945, BUT -- they certainly keep you going. You've met Robin, now there's Pat from the 80s, arrow through the neck via child, he's spectacular! You'll like him. Then there's Julian, ignore him. Morally bankrupt. There's sweet Kitty, young and raring to go as always. As opposed to Lady Button, or Fanny, as she's affectionately known. Ah, yes, Humphrey, who is mostly in two separate body parts. Oh, and Thomas. He'll speak poetry at you, just nod and smile. Then dear Alison and her husband Mike, both alive, but here's the catch -- she can see us! Wonderful accident, fell out of a window and now she puts on super-weapon documentaries for me--"

For the first time in decades, Havers leaves the forest, and with that, he leaves behind all of the promises he ever made, except to the Captain. His legs grow weak as they walk, his heart rate increasing and his head aching with the memories that come swarming back to him as they get closer to Button House. Images of James, collapsed on the floor, fighting his untimely demise to admit a deadly secret -- how he clutches at the swagger stick that he holds bravely now as Anthony walks by his side. He listens as the Captain rambles, the passionate side stories he briefly stumbles into then backs his way out of, the fond recollections of the ghosts inside and realises he's been missing out on a family all this time.

In the many years that they have both been dead, his Captain has done the truly valiant thing and transformed his place of death into a home. He was not weakened by fright, or buried in the depths of his shame, but instead sat at the dinner table with his demons. He reclaimed the wooden floor he died on, faced the room of humiliation every day, all whilst his craven Lieutenant hid in the forest. The irony of it all, to know his Captain feared to be a coward for hiding in Button House, when truly it was the bravest thing of all.

War is over.

As they step through the doors and enter the mouth of the mighty beast, Anthony is overcome with nostalgia. It smells different -- lighter, slightly perfumed, as opposed to the virile musk of army men. It had a woman's touch that softened its stale, heartless innards. The wallpaper, still crimson and rolling off the walls, a stomach in waiting for its newest meal: two anxious men in green at the mercy of several pairs of hungry eyes.

"Ah, there he is! The man who has been camping out in my woods for 60-odd years with not so much as a hello," An older woman scorns, clearly unimpressed. Alison jumps to shush her.

The ghosts are clearly up to date on Forest-gate. Anthony spots the beast, who looks around awkwardly and gulps before peeling his eyes away.

The arrow man that James spoke of gets up first, pushing his glasses up his nose before approaching the pair. "Hello Captain, and uh... you must be the Lieutenant!" Pat smiles, readying his hand for a handshake.

The Captain eyes at his Lieutenant, sensing his anxiety. "It's Major, actually." He grins, honouring Anthony's true rank.

"Lieutenant is just fine, thank you," Anthony graciously responds, shaking Pat's hand firmly. "My name is Anthony Havers. It's a pleasure to meet you all, I'm sorry it's under such strange circumstances."

James' eyebrows flick up in gentle surprise. He clears his throat to avoid smiling.

Pat pulls away from the handshake and turns to face the others, eyes wide as he whispers he's strong, under his breath before he waddles away, cradling his shook hand as if it hurt. The ghosts continue to stare at the Lieutenant in uncharacteristic silence. Alison takes charge, eager to fill it.

"It's really lovely to have you in here with us! I'm Alison, as you know from earlier, and my husband Mike is around here somewhere. That's Fanny, Kitty, Julian, Robin, Thomas and Pat... I don't-- does anyone know where Humphrey is? Preferably the head bit."

"I shall fetch him, my love. Up up, and away!" Thomas announces, speeding off into the distance.

"Sorry, he really took to Toy Story," Alison explains as if Anthony would understand. "So, can I ask why you were in those woods for all those years? I just think it's mad that you were so close but you guys never crossed paths!"

"Yes, explain yourself," Julian interjects, legs crossed and seething with suspicious curiosity. "You were out in those woods all that time and didn't see us once? Nah, don't buy it."

Kitty and Pat let out a dramatic gasp, covering their mouths. Fanny simply nods to Julian with her hand in agreement, tucking her chin into her neck, before turning to see Anthony's reaction.

The Captain leans into his Lieutenant and eyes Julian as he speaks, "What did I say? Morally bankrupt." He stands tall, clearing his throat and adjusting his feet as he opens his mouth to command, "I will not tolerate this insolence towards my Lieutenant! It is--"

"Sir, if I may?" Anthony interrupts, immediately bringing the room to a standstill. "I understand your friend's curiosity. Had a strange soldier man claimed to live in the woods all that time without an inkling of the insides of Button House, you too would suspect deceit."

Those eyes -- gleaming with purpose-filled glee. The looming return of Lieutenant Havers and his winning personality. Julian smirks at Anthony's clear talent in the art of conciliation.

"Very well, Havers," The Captain permits. The ghosts eye the Lieutenant in awe; seeing the Captain submit almost instantaneously was impressive -- solely because he knew how to shut him up.

"So, you see--" Havers began, although he wasn't entirely sure what to say next. There's a plethora of words in his mouth, so much so he chokes. His head spins as if he's stepped too quickly back into his role and now he is struck with a bout of motion sickness.

Beady, judgemental eyes watch him closely. He finds his words with the Captain because he knows him, but outside of that, he is back in the woods. There are no more army subordinates to order around, nor superiors to impress. Just like the trees, there were no pre-imagined responses he could conjure up in his mind, it was total silence. He briefly wonders if this is how James felt the day he died.

Robin frowns, sensing Anthony's obvious apprehension. He kicks his furry boots about slightly, picking at his fingers before gaining the courage to stand up and speak. The eyes turn to him, hearing the swish against the floorboards as he jumps up, "It my bad. I see him and I chase him, didn't fink he take it so seriously, you know?"

The Lieutenant nodded at the caveman, the fear he had beginning to dissipate. He isn't sure how genuine Robin is being, but the childish context reminds him of what he told James earlier, how they were all children at war.

"You never realised that he was the Captain's Lieutenant?" Alison asks, astonished.

James and Anthony catch each others' eyes and blush at the implication.

Robin shrugs, "Nah, me never get close enough. He too busy screaming for me to get good look at his face anyway."

Anthony steps forward, quick to distract himself and be the man he was supposed to be. More precisely, he wishes to show these ghosts who he was before death. "Perhaps it was cowardice for a soldier man like myself, but I thought I had been condemned to hell! After I died, I couldn't believe it. I ran half a mile after looking over my own body and didn't see a single soul. When I realised I couldn't leave the grounds, I came to the conclusion I was being punished. I damned myself to those woods and lived through what felt like Dante's Inferno -- wandering the plains of the First Circle like a lost lamb. No, Robin was just an additional excuse. I was scared and out of my depth."

The ghosts look to the floor, reliving the aftermath of their own deaths. The hurt, confusion, the inner conflict regarding faith. Lady Button closed her eyes solemnly as he spoke, before nodding with a developed sense of respect. It was unlucky timing and an unfortunate result. A human lifetime of loneliness out in the woods for no reason.

Julian adjusts himself in his seat, feeling disapproving eyes on him. "Yes, well I suppose I can understand being out of your depth."

"Had I died and not immediately met you all, I'd wonder if I'd been damned to hell too!" Kitty chimes in, pouting in empathy with the Lieutenant. Anthony sees the Captain's heart melt.

"You've not done nowt to be sent to the fiery pits of hell, Kitty, you'd be fine," Pat states comfortingly, eager to improve Kitty's dreary mood.

"Aww, thanks, Pat! Yes, I suppose I would be."

"So you didn't see us once?" Fanny adds, less critical than before, but still curious.

"Well..." Anthony begins again, even more reluctant than last time as James glances at him with innocent eyes. "I'm sorry, Captain, I... have seen you before."

Pat gasps wildly then shushes himself profusely. The Captain's expression slowly drops and he blinks in attempt to hide his shock. He doesn't believe it to be true.

"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" Alison interrogates, ready to mediate.

"I've seen you all occasionally walking the grounds. I saw you all the night you camped in the woods--" The words fall out of his mouth quicker than he wants them to, his guilt crawling out of him.

"Yes, that was my next inquiry!" Julian bellows, fist in the air, keen to reestablish dominance.

"--but I refused to believe you were all more than taunting delusions! Demons dressed as humans to tempt me," Anthony gulped, staring at the floor. The trees cloud his mind, they grow long and twisted and block out all sunlight. He is stranded, alone, with no way to defend himself.

"What about me?" James asks, patiently. His blue eyes twinkle with dispirit, voice low and gravelly.

"I didn't think you were real, sir. I saw you before my death and after yours. In shop windows, flashes in the mirror, in my shadow behind me. I was used to ignoring your reflection," The Lieutenant admits.

"Oh, how tragic!" Kitty cries.

"You didn't think to try and say hello?"

"It wasn't that easy, sir!" Havers snaps. It stuns the Captain and once again reduces him to silence.

"I just think it's terribly rude," Fanny states.

"Fanny!" Alison bites back disapprovingly.

In amongst the shouting, all of Havers' senses are heightened, his chest growing tight with anguish. His head swims. He feels pathetic, unable to connect with the others or demonstrate the same camaraderie he did with his fellow soldiers all those years ago. Button House used to be his. A place he knew like the back of his hand, but he realises now he never truly knew it. All of these occupants must have watched him over the years and how he's failed their preconceived notions of him. He is overcome with a desire to survive, much like on the field, and he decides to run.

"I'm sorry, excuse me," Anthony says, politely excusing himself despite the clear upset on his face.

Havers rushes out of the room, overcome with panic, though it doesn't show too much to the others. His Captain must be so disappointed in him, he thinks, as he wanders the halls like a lost child until he remembers exactly where everything was. It all floods back to him. The meeting room, the meal room, their assigned bedrooms and the Captain's office, and he knows exactly where he must go.

The Captain watches in shock as his Lieutenant leaves, unsure of how to address the ghostly audience. He stumbles to say something, but nothing comes out. Alison sees the hurt in his eyes, peering at the other ghosts before approaching him.

"Let's go find him, okay?" She says softly. The Captain nods, following her attentively.

As they leave, Thomas enters with Humphrey's head clasped under his arm. He eyes the pair as they exit, a confused expression on his face soon developing into one of shock and horror. He rushes towards the ghosts.

"Why, praytell, is Alison chasing after the army man? Don't tell me she's in love with him! O' what a damning revelation!" He whines irrationally.

Humphrey rolls his eyes, "Put me down, man!"

Alison and the Captain briefly split up, wandering down the hallways before awkwardly bumping into each other again. Then, he realises:

"Alison, I may have an idea as to where my Lieutenant has disappeared to," The Captain states knowingly, progressing to his bedroom.

"You don't think he's gone back to the woods, do you?"

As Alison inquires, she spots a pair of legs hanging off of the Captain's bed. Two army-issued shoes are planted firmly on the ground.

"Your office is a bedroom," Havers states as the two walk in, eyes glued to the Captain. He's remarkably calm as he looks at them. "I'm sorry for my theatrics, I promise I wasn't like this before. I suppose being away from people for all these decades has worn away my social etiquette."

"Don't be silly, it's okay. They understand, they're just a tight-knit bunch, y'know? Are you alright, Lieutenant?" Alison offers sweetly, playing with her fingers.

"It's just very overwhelming, as one can imagine," Anthony says meekly before his expression grows stern. "You're the Lady of the house, you shouldn't see me like this -- it's improper."

"It's okay," The Captain intervenes. "Alison is very, uhh, modern! What I am trying to say is, we are both here for you, Havers."

"Yes, but in saying that... I should probably get those lousy ghosts back in line, eh? Like... like a Captain-- Lieutenant-- soldier guy in command. Okay. I'll just leave you guys to it, yeah?" Alison grins awkwardly. "You've got this," she whispers to the Captain.

"She's lovely."

"Yes, she is."

The Captain takes a seat beside his Lieutenant, feeling the bed shift under his weight. The strange rules of being a ghost will never not be confusing to him.

"Anthony, I'm not upset at you," James affirms. "I understand."

"You do?" Anthony squeaks, looking into the Captain's eyes with tears forming in his own. "I saw you every day when I was alive, James. Sometimes I even spoke to you."

"And when you were alive, I was haunted by you. You appeared in my dreams and sometimes, sadly, my nightmares, too."

"Perhaps we are intrinsically tethered to one another," Anthony offers, bravely.

"Perhaps indeed, dear Havers," the Captain's lips curl into a bashful smile. His Lieutenant tries to return the expression, but his face scrunches up in disconcert.

"I'm sorry I didn't even try to approach you, sir," His Lieutenant frowned. "I was so afraid." His voice trembles, barely above a whisper.

James does what the Captain could never do and reaches forward. His arm extends around his Lieutenant's shoulder and holds him tenderly and close. Anthony melts into his touch, a soft sob shaking his body and he collapses in James' arms. His head falls onto his chest, his pale hands reaching up to grasp the shoulder of the Captain's uniform and clenching it between his fingers. Tears run down his face, overcome with shame. The Captain shushes him sweetly.

It's a unique feeling, to cradle a grown man in your arms as he cries. Anthony has seen it done a thousand times in the trenches, but the Captain has denied himself the chance to even touch a man in case it pulled him under. The hardness of masculinity was never appealing to James; he'd always struggled to maintain the domineering attitude and rough edge, but this: compassionate, humane, vulnerable state of being -- suits him just fine.

As Havers cries, he finds himself crying too. It's cathartic, necessary. They are a wet, snotty mess, knotted in each other's arms. The Captain wonders what his past self would say if he knew this was on the cards. The utter disbelief and clumsy mutters about professionalism. Anthony's arm finds his cheek, his thumb brushing against it thoughtfully. He lifts himself, their faces so close the Captain can feel his Lieutenant's breath. He sees the red rings around his eyes and the shine that trickles down his cheeks and his own breath hitches.

The Captain's eyes glance down to Havers' lips. They are pink and plush, moistened with saliva from his crying. He thinks of how soft they must be and how desperately he wants to feel them against his own and all of the yearning that never truly left him finally swallows him whole. He sees Anthony's eyes dart to his lips, then back up at his eyes and they both submit.

In that moment, every fear they ever had was tamed and conquered by the raw essence of their passionate kiss. Every shared glance, every accidental brush of the skin, every unspoken word reimagined into the most soul-defining kiss across every millennium. No creature has ever experienced such a feeling, more than desire, more than love. This was a feeling too grand to ever be cheapened to a word. Like the crescendo in a piece of music, they have been building up to this moment for years, they died for this. The Captain's skin is on fire, his heart swells, and he feels the Lieutenant's chest pushing into his own. Their lips dance against one another, they fit perfectly like the gods hand-crafted them only for each other. It is everything they could ever ask for.

Havers fists at his Captain's hair, gently pulling at the scalp. James gasps lightly, eyes flickering open before fluttering closed again. He feels Anthony's tongue lick against his lips. It's dirty and forbidden but he forgot about that a long time ago. He isn't sure how to kiss like this, and briefly wonders where Anthony learned. It's clumsy and earns him an endearing giggle as Havers pushes him into the bed. Their bodies are strangely intertwined, with his Lieutenant looming over him, chests and stomachs pressed together, one of Havers' legs between his own. It's slightly uncomfortable and that's what makes it perfect. He's hard beneath his uniform, he has been since Anthony collapsed into him, but he prays it goes unnoticed. He ponders as to whether Havers is hard too, his thigh twitching, brushing against the inners of his Lieutenant's own thighs to find his answer. Good Lord. They both pause, panting. The Captain feels exposed, with his back pressed into the bed and legs slightly spread, yet he's never been so relaxed. Then he feels the delicate scratch of stubble against his skin as his Lieutenant places another kiss on his lips making him realise this isn't another one of his dreams. It was real.

His lips grow cold as Anthony pulls away, leaving James wanting more, as the dynamic always went. They breathe heavily, looking at each other with surprise and acceptance through half-lidded eyes. The Captain reaches up, his finger finding Anthony's scar and following it down his face, watching his Lieutenant obey and close his eye, darting his finger over his soft eyelid. He caresses down gently, watching his finger trail further to Anthony's lips. It's vulgar, smushing his finger against the pink of his lips, peeling his bottom lip down to see his teeth. He wants to put his finger in his mouth and see what happens. The Captain blinks.

"How did you get that scar?" James whispers, dropping his hand.

"A grenade blast," Anthony whispers back. He collapses to the Captain's side and rolls next to him so they both lay on the bed facing the ceiling. "We lost six of our men."

"Good Lord, Havers, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Havers spoke, his voice a little louder. "It's not your fault."

The Captain hums in response.

"They said I was lucky to still have my sight. The shrapnel miraculously spared my eyes and I'm eternally grateful, to be able to see you in completion," Anthony smiles, shifting his weight to stare at the Captain.

James' lips feel bare and cold. He wets them with his tongue, cheeks flushed under his Lieutenant's gaze. He wants to kiss him again, and show him everything he's grateful for in return. The Captain is too shy to respond, muttering some form of 'thank you' before sitting up.

"Sir, I have to ask," Havers begins. He sits up with his Captain, eyes still swollen from crying. "Did you see me die?"

The air turns cold around the Captain, freezing him in place. He clasps his hands together in his lap, squeezing his knuckles so tight they turn white. Anthony's death day crosses his mind -- the confession, so heartfelt and deep it killed him again and his decision to walk away, killing Anthony. No, it wasn't his fault. He did not force his Lieutenant to come here and die, but the guilt that has followed him since is irreparable, so he thought. Once he believed Anthony to have passed on, he cursed himself for not being there in his final moments, for the last thing he saw being those cold, blue lips before he was hidden under a sheet like a dirty secret.

"No," James states. "I left you, I'm sorry."

"Good," Anthony responds, his voice does not waver.

"What?" The Captain asks, in disbelief.

"I watched the life leave your eyes and it was the most painful thing I have ever experienced," Anthony speaks, looking forward as if to relive it. His face darkens. "I'd never wish the same for you."

"But I left," James stresses. "I left and when I returned you were gone."

"I left, too," Anthony remarks, placing a warm hand atop James' own in his lap. "We are here now. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"How did you die? They-- they said suicide in the ambulance--" The way the Captain says it is inelegant. He fumbles the words as he speaks. They feel wrong in his mouth.

His Lieutenant grips his hand, "You were in the ambulance with me?" Anthony questions, almost reprehensibly.

"I couldn't believe you were gone," The Captain's voice trembles. "They pulled back the sheet and I saw you."

"Good god, James," His Lieutenant curses. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sir, it's true."

They squeeze each other's hands, fingers intertwining with one another. The Captain nods. After all, it was the only reasonable explanation. Once, in a fit of madness, he convinced the ghosts the maid was a murderer, though Humphrey quickly provided her with an alibi. It was harder to convince the ghosts that Humphrey was in on the plot. Meaning, there was only one thing left to come to terms with: Havers chose death over life.

It was an open wound. One that cut so deep, every time he dared to move it reopened, flesh hot and weeping. Someone so phenomenal, prodigious and breathtaking -- wasted. To survive a war, dodge the fleeting rounds of gunfire, to come home with all of his limbs intact only to abandon them for the illusive concept of Heaven. James wanted him to become a father, a husband, to live out the fantasy they never could. He could learn to be happy.

Perhaps not. He saw the pain in Anthony's eyes, that day, the achy tired that is forever immortalised on his ghostly face. It had been a decade. Even alive his Lieutenant must've been a ghost on the streets, hollow. To beg him to play pretend, to bury his feelings and find a woman to settle down with made him no better than the oppressors of his own generation. The Captain knows better now.

"Was it painful?" James inquires, solemnly. His voice is low, afraid of the answer.

"It was fast," Anthony answers. "Cyanide, sir."

The Captain simply nods. It's the answer he has been waiting on for several decades. There is no murder conspiracy, nor is there a gunshot wound to his temple like his nightmares had shown. It's quick, subtle, and Anthony's avoidance tells him maybe there was pain. His innards churn, but he takes a deep breath. He refuses to let either of their deaths consume them. They have wasted far too long dilly-dallying on the things that apprehend them and too little time on what they have now.

In the pause between them, Anthony does not fear his Captain's answer. In his face, he sees acceptance. Years in the forest prepared him for the worst -- a burst of outrage, one where he banishes Anthony from ever speaking to him again, but there is no tension in the air. James fiddles with his Lieutenant's fingers, it's unconscious and instinctive and they both wordlessly understand one thing: they have each other now, and that's all they need.

"Would you like to stay with me?" The Captain asks, nervous. He feels as if he's proposing.

"Yes, I would very much like that," Anthony smiles.

The ghosts quickly learn that the Captain and his Lieutenant are a package deal. Whilst they function adequately without the other to hold their hand, their camaraderie and undeniable connection grant them being a hard-to-beat team. As the weeks pass by, it's as if Havers had always lived there. He finds his way into their daily activities and silly nonsense like it's second nature. His likeness to the Captain is overpowering, at first, Pat especially finds, but he soon mellows out into his own unique personality. Julian grows fond of him, finds him slightly more respectable than the Captain, and appreciates his ghostly talent of getting James to shut up.

There's a dance that James and Anthony do, Pat finds it amusing because he knows they aren't even aware they're doing it. The stolen glances, hands at their sides secretly grasping at one another, the finished sentences and laughing way too hard at jokes that weren't funny. Kitty finds it charming, likening them to one of her romance novels that Alison sets up for her. Thomas likens it to poetry. Contrastingly, Fanny finds it disturbingly familiar, but she disregards it because Anthony offers her a dance of their own.

As it turns out, the Lieutenant is a man of many talents. The Captain had let things slip over the years, mentioning how he knew a man capable of the subject at hand, but they chalked it up to the old man wanting to join in. Watching Havers waltz with Lady Button at 10 o'clock on a Tuesday morning was the last thing Alison expected to come home to after popping out, but it was extravagant. Seeing Fanny's face flush pink as she roisters away, happy to be in the strong arms of a uniformed fellow -- Havers brought a whole load of newfound enjoyment to the ghosts' afterlives. Not forgetting the infamous chess games, of course.

"Julian! The Lieutenant can't play chess with you, he promised he'd watch 'Is It Cake?' with me!" Kitty whines feverishly, clenching and shaking her fists in a childlike manner.

"Just a moment, Kitty, we're in the midst of a grand tournament!" The Captain exclaims, clutching his swagger stick with excitement as he watches from over Anthony's shoulder. "Yes... this is exhilarating. Very good, carry on."

Havers analyses the chessboard with great interest. The devious MP had nearly three decades of practice on him, plus an extensive memory that wasn't necessary in the original game. The Lieutenant had learned early on that "prawn go dooka dooka" was as good as it got in terms of understanding where the chess pieces had moved. The competitive devil inside of him, unfortunately for Robin and Julian, wasn't put off so easily.

"Ooh! Horsey go there, uhh, ehh, lady over here and Julian easy win!" Robin schemes, hovering over Julian's shoulder as he flaps his arms about to explain.

"You can't expose our strategy to the opposition, you nitwit." Julian sighs, pinching his nose. "You may as well have him, Kitty, it's pointless."

"I not got nits, you do!"

"No, you're right. You're more likely to have fleas," Julian snickers, sticking his tongue out cheekily. Robin paws at his hair like a dog before glaring at Julian and looking away with wide eyes.

"We could call it a draw?" Havers smirks and offers his hand to shake. The Captain holds a similar expression, eyes gleaming as he glances at his Lieutenant.

"Ehhh, take the win," Julian grumbles in response. The Captain bellows a 'hurrah' and enthusiastically pats his Lieutenant on his shoulders. "And you two get a room!" Julian finishes, sitting back in his chair in sore defeat.

"But they already share one!" Kitty declares, confused.

"It's a figure of speech, Kitty," Pat chimes in. "Comes from the 1980 movie Fatso, Carol made me watch it once. It were alright, I s'pose. Just means that--" He eyes the Captain and his Lieutenant then remembers who he is talking about. "--that they're very good friends!"

The Captain's hands return to his side as he clears his throat. It's been like this for a while now; the overt, accidental flirting, like that of a Freudian slip. The other ghosts are stupefied by the mere sight of shared affection between the two, sharing confused looks or the odd whisper. To see their Captain, formerly resigned by his lawful dedication to his army lifestyle and the obstinate way he marched about, undisputedly changed by his Lieutenant's presence, definitely brought about a few questions. From stubborn leader to personal cheerleader, even the Captain realises how much he's perked up over these past weeks. Left in a state of scarlet, babbling and stuttering like a schoolgirl with a crush -- he's gone soft and everybody knows it. He isn't sure how to explain himself, opts for just not doing so. His avoidance of addressing his personal relationship creates an insecurity that follows the two around in every room. They weren't an item, in fact, neither thought a day like this would ever come. They are free to love one another, yet they hold back, shackled down by the unforgiving weight of their time period.

It's a game, partially. Havers walks the ground, hopeful his Captain will chase him, and he does. The days he doesn't, Anthony struggles. He reminds himself he's a grown man, a soldier at that, not one who needs the approval and validation of another to have a good day, but after several decades of pining, he needs something. A proof, that his Captain still loves him, like he tried to tell him the day he died. He's afraid it's pity or guilt, or that James is only in love with the version of himself that died too on that day. Without his unit, the banter to bounce off on, the Captain's impression of him is solely based on the interactions they had alone. Romantic but closed off. They thrived on bare minimums, too scared to be bold and now boldness is scaring James away. Death changed them both. He prayed for a chance to see the love of his life again and it was delivered, but they struggled to make that final leap.

This could have turned out very differently had they run away together. All they had to do was choose to love each other, boldly and openly. The war could be won without them. Havers thinks a 14th-century cottage would be a good look on his Captain. Perhaps they'd manage a few acres of land together and Anthony can watch James break a sweat on the field because he doesn't know when to stop. He'll make them lemonade, or something icy and sweet, God how he craves something sweet, and lure his love back inside to laugh at the obvious sunburn that marks his face like a slapped arse. He wants to care for him. To watch him shave in the morning with nothing but a towel around his waist, trimming that excellent moustache into shape. To walk into the kitchen and embrace the sight of his dutiful husband, engrossed in a newspaper, dressed to the nines in a shirt, slacks and suspenders. Anthony wants to worship his Captain, lick his shoes until they shine, feel the muscles in his calves through his trousers, and watch that commanding expression melt into unholy diffidence. His darling James. A lifetime of memories and visions thrown away out of fear. It burns him.

James still holds back. He kicks himself for it, hypes himself up to even hold Anthony's shoulder then gets shy once another ghost enters the room. He hides from their judgement, plays the same coy games they did in Button House XI and invites Havers to his office only after dark. The kiss has yet to be spoken into existence, impossibly ignored and driving them both mad. In the night, as they lie next to each other with a space between them, heated memories of being pinned against one another and all the Captain can smell is Havers Havers Havers. He envisions Anthony in his dreams, instead, and kisses him forever. It's safer this way. He misplaces the kiss throughout history, drops it into past memories like the chess game, or their evening stroll, and brings a whole new meaning to them. He loves boldly and openly in his dreams, but it's not good enough.

The ghosts soon grow tired of their high-school antics. The vicious cycle where Havers grows cold and the Captain goes on the warpath, inflicting his bad mood upon every being, dead or alive, that looks his way. Then they make up, secretly, in their room with a hand on the knee or a hug that lingers for too long and the pair restore harmony in Button House. The air is heavy between the two men, so undeniably thick with tension that nobody walks between them. They are inseparable forces, irrevocably linked to one another, but how? Too scared to fully commit behind closed doors, Alison tells Mike they're "sort of boyfriends" (never in front of them), and Kitty thinks they "must be husbands by now". The rest of the ghosts are happy to define their relationship for them.

"For crying out loud, are those two not together yet?" Julian huffs from his armchair.

"Well, I think it's still early days, Julian," Alison responds from over the top of her laptop. The MP rolls his eyes and groans in response.

"Oh my, I thought they were already married!" Kitty exclaims, slightly confused.

"Really? What gave you that impression?" Alison inquires, closing her laptop with curiosity.

"Besides the fact they squabble like an old married couple--? Come on!" Julian scoffs. "Worse than me and Margot. Sort of. No, not at all actually. Take it back."

"Well, I just thought that's why they took so long in the woods. I've been giving the Captain the cold shoulder ever since because I didn't get to be a bridesmaid."

Pat turns around from the window, "Err, well, the Captain's an army man, they're all reserved, ain't they? And with two of them! Bloody 'ell, I think we'll be in for another hundred years of this 'will they, won't they' malarkey." He grumbles, then glances at Alison. "Or fifty, fifty is a nice, solid, round number. Very plausible, you'll live to see it, Alison. I think."

"YAWN! Just get it over with. At least there will be a little action in this house," Julian smirks, waggling his tongue about.

Lady Button wails, flapping her arms about, "I beg you pardon! I will not be having any 'action' under my roof. Filth, utter filth," she protests.

"Fanny, we've spoken about this," Humphrey interjects from a table.

"No! Not the Captain and his lovely counterpart -- JULIAN! That man needs to be neutered."

"I'm just saying! Besides, the only blowing that will be going on is of all the cobwebs from all the years they've been pent up,"

"I bet they kiss in Captain's room, go mwah mwah, ooh Captain! oh yeah Lootent!" Robin guffaws, wrapping his hands around himself and puckering his lips to kiss the air, earning him a high-five from the MP.

"Both of you, shush!"

In another room, the Captain experiences a different universe, one lost to the world a long time ago. He stares out the window, admires how lush and green the grass has gotten, and sees the horizon cradled by the sun and the tree leaves swaying in a soft breeze his ghostly skin can no longer appreciate. It's the same weather as the cricket game, the same window, too, that the boys ran past in their gear, giddy to forget the war for one afternoon. Then Havers, picturesque and in a different uniform to normal, and Lord, those arms. The Captain had to turn away, missing the opportunity to wave because the butterflies in his stomach made him queasy. As he glances away, he remembers Operation William. The smooth grain of paper between his fingertips, hiding it in his coat upon a knock at the door. One of two secrets he shared with Havers.

As he turns, there his Lieutenant stands. His hands clasped behind his back, a spitting image of the day he left his Captain. There's a curve at his lips like he knows something the Captain does not, head tilted as he awaits a response to his presence. He seeks order, as if he was never in control regardless, those sweet brown eyes reading the Captain from top to bottom. James holds his breath, straightening his posture.

"I was just thinking of you," James speaks weakly.

"And I, you, sir," Anthony replies, stepping forward.

James' head is swimming. He recounts the way they spoke over each other, the way it made him smile on the inside only for it to be torn away by the crestfallen look on his Lieutenant's face. The preparation and his soldier's ability to square away his feelings to broach the subject at hand. He hardly ever saw his Lieutenant nervous, it would've been sweet had it not broken his heart. "I'm afraid I'm leaving you, sir..." It's a statement, matter-of-fact, pragmatic. It stings how easily it rolls off his tongue, the words slice into his chest like a knife. In a split second, all hope he ever had that Anthony held a flame for him, vanished into the void between them. He forgets his role as Commander, lets his eyebrow twitch and his mouth drop. "At 1800 hours this evening..." Havers sees his expression change and twists the knife in further. He carves out a cavity around the Captain's heart, watches it thump and pulse and finally, that pernicious attempt to waver his consciousness and act like they are just fellow soldiers, finally it shows in his Lieutenant's face that it hurts him too. It's childish, maybe it's anger or jealousy -- it's not, he knows what it is. The Captain loves his Lieutenant and everything they have is being thrown away. It's too painful, to love. Especially when the one you love leaves. "I shall miss you Havers... by which I mean, we shall miss you."

"Do you remember that spiffing game of cricket?" The Captain inquires, desperate to detach himself from such thoughts. It makes him feel lonely, even as Anthony stands before him, knowing how easy it was for him to leave.

Anthony's gaze remains solely on James, "Yes, I played my best, hoping you were watching me." His voice is strong, teasing and tempting. The Captain gulps.

"I was," He admits, hot under his Lieutenant's watchful eye.

"I'm not here to speak cricket, I'm afraid," Havers begins. This is it, the Captain thinks.

It's been haunting him for the past few weeks. These persistent thoughts that Havers is going to leave him, again. Not for the war front, maybe the forest, maybe up into the light -- it's irrational, he thinks, he knows the truth in his heart resides in the fear of getting hurt all over again. Waving Havers off into the night and wondering if he'd ever see him again, near enough destroyed him and he understands finally the difference between life and death within the soul. He prepares for his own personal kamikaze, in a reckless attempt to rectify what has been suspended in the air since they first laid eyes upon one another.

"I love you," James warns. It's sudden, takes him by surprise when the words fall out of his mouth, but he means it. Finally, he finishes the sentence he began all that time ago.

Anthony's face lights up in surprise, as if this were a revelation that wasn't already established. It still shakes him, warms him. He sees how hard it is for James to admit it, it's sudden and he doesn't understand the relevance but the conversation needs to be had.

It shouldn't shock him the way it does, but Anthony can't help but be taken aback by it. His heart leaps in his chest, it hums with delight and he fights the urge to break out in a smile so big it hurts his cheeks. He stares James in the face, locks eyes brown to blue and sees the tremble of emotion in his brows. They never could have done this when they were alive; this alone is a sin committed and a prayer answered. Havers breathes a sigh of relief and allows himself to briefly melt into the words, as stern and as rough as they were said, it was long overdue. They have been avoiding this conversation since they found each other, but here it is. As plain and grey as themselves, aged by time.

"Then what am I to you?" Anthony asks, softly. He hardens the look on his face, desperate for the Captain to face it head-on.

"You're my--" James stutters, unsure of his words. He battles with the enmity of judgement and everything he knows and finds his answer. "--my... You're mine," he settles on the words, tasting them in his mouth and deciding they are the best flavour. He nods and gives his Lieutenant a small smile.

The Captain takes the lead and it stuns him, "I am?" Havers breathes.

"Yes, Heavens yes," James whispers, closing his eyes and reliving the years of desperation. "I need you by my side forever, not as my Lieutenant, but as my other half."

"I wasn't sure you still loved me," Anthony frowns. "After all these years, I thought perhaps it has faded and you might see me as a different man."

"I was scared, I'm still scared, but I can't lose you." The Captain demands, lurching forward to hold and reclaim his other half. He holds his shoulders, grips them and squeezes and tries to avoid cutting the conversation off by kissing him with all the love he has.

"Why would you lose me?" Havers questions, cradling the Captain's upper arms with his hands.

James drops his arms, slowly and in innocent confusion, "Are you not here to tell me you're leaving me?"

He watches as Anthony's eyes widen, shaking his head furiously, "No, sir, I couldn't--" The Lieutenant utters. "I'm not leaving you. I should have never left you in the first place." He takes a breath, seeing his Captain reduced to silence. "When I left, I did want to fight in the war, but I was also fighting my feelings for you. I ran away from us, I used North Africa as a scapegoat for something so much bigger. When you told me you were going to miss me, I wanted to grab your face and kiss you, but you got scared and I remembered who we were and who we had to be. I volunteered because I was in too deep and I left to try and forget you. I never did. I'm sorry, you must have hated me."

Havers looks away, but that is changed by two strong hands that turn his attention forward as they cup his cheeks. He sees passion burn in his Captain's glossy blue eyes, "Never. I hated war. I wanted you," He strains. "I still do."

It brings a tear to his Lieutenant's eye. "Well, I'm here," He nods, breath quickening. "and I love you, James."

James' fingers comb through the hair on the side of his head, setting him alight and he leans into them. His eyes flutter closed, immersed in the moment, ignorant to the tremble in his Captain's lower lip. He feels James' hand makes its way to the base of his neck and opens his eyes to see the tender expression on his face, blissed out by their equal confessions. The two men press their foreheads together in unison, huffing out the odd bit of laughter as they break out into smiles. Havers' hands wrap themselves around his Captain's waist, squeezing him and pulling him closer. The word beautiful has never felt so right.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," James purrs as their noses touch. He feels slightly boyish, but love has made him young again. He reels in the embarrassment of it all and celebrates his own Victory Day where he finally gets to be James. "Anthony Havers."

"I love you," Anthony reaffirms. "Now shut up and kiss me, James."

The sun begins to smile down on them as it sets, offering the universe's blessing. They may not feel the warmth of the rays soak into their skin, but the love in their heart keeps them warm instead. James pecks Anthony on the lips, squeezing him before they erupt into a much longer kiss. It's attentive and intense, the delicate rhythm of their souls illustrated by the fluidity in their lips. There isn't any hesitation, they are unafraid to hold back and love each other boldly. They break apart merely to breathe and bask in each other's scent. Teenage love springs to mind as they kiss and hold one another -- the purity and inexperience they both share for the first time, excited for the new opportunities that are on the horizon. For once, they both look forward to the future, their future, and they spend the rest of the evening confessing all of the little things they never could before.

How the Captain fawned over his Lieutenant at the cricket game.

How the Lieutenant dreamed of another chess night to accidentally bump knees under the table.

The strolls and talks and everything they really meant, giggling over their obliviousness and how they didn't elope just there and then.

By morning, they act like a couple on their honeymoon. They lounge in bed, Havers spooning James from behind, they laugh a little more. Then, when they finally decide to grace the others with their presence, they do so side-by-side. They enter the room, shoulders brushing against one another as they walk, and as they participate in Food Club, they eagerly await announcing their news. The ghosts watch them closely, sensing a shift in their usual pattern of attraction and share happy-infused looks of confusion with one another. Alison smirks from the window as she watches on, for once engrossed in the clubs. They take note of the Captain's hand on the Lieutenant's knee, and how his own hand rest upon the Captain's. Their fingers interlock halfway through Pat's answer, but when Pat's speech slows and he registers their hand-holding, they do not pull away from one another and instead remain as they are. It's time to confess.

"Ahem," James clears his throat, standing up from his seat. "Attention! Please, everyone! Jolly good, thank you. My Lieutenant and I have something we would like to say." He glances down at Havers with a smile and winks. The ghosts look to him, eager to hear his next words. "Anthony and I... we are-- well, umm..." He choked, eyes wide as he struggled to find them a label. They didn't actually get this far; too immersed in the taste of each other's lips.

"Boyfriends?!" Alison chimes in, unable to hide her excitement.

"Significant others?" Julian offers, twirling his hand about.

"Husbands!" Kitty squeals.

"Partners?" Pat offers.

"Uhh, brother and sista?" Robin questions only to be met with confused exclamations.

"Lovers! Oh, how grand," Thomas smiles. "I've been wondering who we could go on double dates with for a while, Alison, it seems my prayers have been answered!"

"Ah, ha! ha-ha, yes! Yes to all of them," The Captain grins. "Except Robin's. I'm not sure what happened there but I don't want to explore it."

"Captain," Fanny begins. James gulps, apprehensive of her reaction as he thinks back to the lesbian wedding a while back. "I'm very proud of you. It's very difficult to navigate such feelings, especially those that stretch over time. I know I've had my trouble, but you have done it. I believe a congratulation is in order to you and your Lieutenant." She holds her hands together and smiles widely, closing her eyes and nodding her head at them both.

"Thank you all so much," Havers smiles, feeling James squeeze his hand as they stand beside one another. "For welcoming me, and, well, us!"

All of that fear -- how he believed his ghosts would abandon him, forced himself to hold his love inside for so many years and didn't utter a single word because he thought being in love with a man would deny him respect -- is worthless. The Captain revels in the joyous outbursts of chatter and laughter, and how the ghosts immediately break into an argument regarding who is going to inform Humphrey. They are very quick to come to terms with the revelation, probably because they mostly already knew, but they entertain the Captain's humble claim that he was very sly about his sexuality. Just smile and nod.

Alison jumps to tell Mike the news, waving her arms about like a lunatic. "Mike! The Captain and his Lieutenant did it, they're together!" She grins, burying herself into his chest as she looks at the Captain, then squeezing. James nods in appreciation, wishing he could hug her too.

"Woah, hey, wow!" Mike exclaims, immediately hugging Alison back. "Ali, that's great. Captain, Lieutenant guy that's new, congrats on coming out, dudes!" He stares up into the air, giving it a thumbs up. "Wait, can I even call army guys 'dudes'?"

"Does he realise we don't float?" Anthony asks, humoured.

"Not at all," James smirks back, leaning towards his love.

"So, when's the wedding?" Julian inquires, serious. "And where do you plan on going for your honeymoon? Heheh," Not-so serious.

"Ooh, gosh! What a brilliant idea for a new club, cheers mate!" Pat hoots, patting Julian on the back.

"God, no, not another one," Julian rolls his eyes, then glances at the happy couple. "I suppose we could do it for like, a week, for those two. Then back to the normal schedule puh-lease and uh-thank you!"

"You know, it's really nice you're so supportive, Julian," Alison says, turning away from Mike after he kisses her on the forehead.

"Eh? Why do you say it like that?"

"Well, because you're... you know..." She darts her eyes around and they speak for themselves.

"A tory from the 90s? Ah well, we can't all be homophobes. Got too much else to be hypocritical about." Julian says dismissively. "After all, my favourite part about a good ol' Moroccan tea party was being in the middle!" He cackles, slapping his hand on his knee. Alison's lips form an 'o' before she just shrugs and let's the conversation move past it.

By the next week, the Captain and his Lieutenant are old news. Although Kitty finds new ways to wear them out with her multitudes of questions, they take it in their stride and work with it. Every day is something new and exciting, learning about each other's families and the details they never had time to share. They know that in another life, they got all of that; the meet-cute, the dates, the wedding, and parenthood, and even though it wasn't this life, they still found each other and that's what counts. Their vows begin at till death do us part, bound forever as Anthony and James Havers.

I love you, I love you, I love you.