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Major Anthony Havers stands on a gently rocking ship near dawn, watching as the white cliffs of Dover come into view, smiling softly to himself. In a short while he’ll be in the port, following his orders to begin his transport back to London.
He puts his hand on the left breast of his jacket, feeling the letter he has hidden away there, waiting for the right opportunity to send it. Soon he thinks to himself, hoping he’ll be able to find an address to send it to in the near future.
Stepping off the ship, pack already heavy on his back, he finds himself whisked along in the waves of soldiers around him, heading for the station where he’ll board a train to London. He smiles as he realises he’ll be able to see his sister and parents again.
The train ride back is noisy, soldiers sharing stories of their time abroad. He’s quite glad when the train rolls into Waterloo and he can leave the talk of war behind as he heads for his parents’ house, breathing in the warm welcome he gets, while trying to deflect any questions about the scarring climbing the left side of his face.
Once he gets back to work after a couple of days of leave that he uses to visit his family across the city, he begins quietly enquiring about other men from Button house, his Captain in the middle of his list, if only to make it not look suspicious.
Upon acquiring the knowledge that his Captain is safe and well having only gone as far as Weymouth he requests a correspondence address. It takes them a while to get back to him, finally passing him an address in a tiny village he’s never heard of. A quick check of a map tells him it’s only an hour or so out of London on the train.
He sends his letter, receiving a response within the week, smiling as it gets handed to him in his office one morning.
Things progress slowly after that, the letters between himself and his Captain, James he must remind himself constantly, keeping him going. It takes him a while to get discharged from the army, despite his reasonable medical grounds, supposedly the higher ups see something in him. Once he’s discharged, there’s then the matter of preparing to move away, packing up his belongings between his barracks and his parents’ house takes longer than he anticipated.
It’s nearly November by the time he’s able to head to Bledlow to meet James, as he arrives at the halt, he briefly considers that he might be in the wrong place, looking around to find himself the only person on the tiny platform. He begins to walk to the exit hoping that he is at the right place, sighing in relief when he sees James talking to someone at the bottom of the steps.
James immediately spots him and waves him over, wasting no time in introducing him to the woman he’s talking to, gesturing between the two of them as he does so, “ah Havers, this is Mary, she’s the landlady of the pub here. Mary, this is my friend Lieutenant, no sorry Major Havers.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you miss,” Havers smiles, “it's good to see you again sir.”
“It certainly is,” he smiles back, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “shall we be off then Havers?”
James extends a hand for one of Havers’ bags, which he gives over, thanking him as he does. “We shall,” Havers responds, following his lead.
They walk quickly through the village, James pointing out the occasional point of interest, but otherwise in a comfortable, but anticipatory silence.
“Right this is me,” he announces once they’re outside a little cottage surrounded by trees set a small walk away from the rest of the village. He opens the gate into the small front garden, letting Havers through to continue to the front door which he once again opens for Havers.
Havers looks around the entranceway, setting his bag down, smiling.
“This is wonderful sir, however did you find such a place?”
James steps closer, taking him by the elbow to lead him further into the cottage, “it was my parents’ they left it to me in their will.”
“Oh I’m sorry to hear that sir.”
He shakes his head, “I’m alright, don’t apologise. I think we’re past you calling me sir, you’re a Major now Havers.”
“Old habits, but I think we’re probably past all the titles, James,” he smiles, taking his hands in his own.
“That is true,” he gently drops one of Anthony’s hands, reaching up to carefully trace the scarring running up the left side of his face, a questioning look in his eyes.
Anthony looks away from him, “grenade blast in Germany, nearly lost the eye.”
“I’m sorry,” James whispers, “does it hurt?”
“A little at times,” he smiles sadly, “some people can’t look at me anymore. My niece wouldn’t talk to me for hours.”
“I’m so sorry Anthony,” James leans forward resting their foreheads together, “for what it’s worth, I still think you’re as handsome as ever, it makes you look like a hero.” He smiles leaning into him slightly, “may I kiss you?”
Anthony chuckles fondly as he leans forward to connect their lips.