Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hi, James. It’s me. Anthony. I mean, you probably knew that already… Sorry, I’m rambling. It’s been a long day. I was just ringing to let you know that I’ve made it up here alright. The traffic was a bloody nightmare, six car pile-up on the M1 apparently, that’s why I’m calling so late. I’m guessing you’re already asleep, but I wanted to call you anyway, just in case you were up waiting. Anyway… I love you. Call me tomorrow when you get home from work? You can tell me all about this new manager you’re getting. Oh, and don’t forget to take your medication! I love you, bye, bye.”

***

Mandatory staff meetings are rare at the Button House PLC Wiltshire office (Chippenham division). It is a small office with barely a dozen employees to its name, tucked away on the ground floor of a dingy building on a dingy business park. Head office rarely visit the site, barely knows it exists, in fact, but the employees who work there chug along, get their work done, and are always on the countdown to payday. 

James Hutchins joined the office around a year ago. Two years out from leaving the army, he could have been looking at a lucrative job at any number of companies. He would have gotten those jobs, too. But no. He wanted to stay close to home, and Button House had been offering a fairly decent wage, a couple of half-arsed benefits, and steady nine-to-five employment only a twenty minute drive away. He’d applied, gotten the job after a ten-minute interview with old Heather Button (who said he looked “like a nice chap”) and has been there ever since. 

The thing is, Heather Button is old. So old that she really should have retired years ago. Something none of them were quite sure of had kept her here, but after a nasty fall on a patch of black ice just outside of the office three months ago, retirement could no longer be put off. She had left last Friday with a bouquet of flowers, some nice chocolates, and a whacking great pension to enjoy. She is going to go on a cruise, apparently. 

“She had a good life here,” Fanny Button says from the seat next to him. She is Heather’s niece, and has been working in accounts ever since she divorced her wealthy husband. James hums a little, nodding. 

“Who d’you think they’re sending?” Pat asks from his other side. Pat is relatively new, having joined the company around six months ago following his divorce. He also works in accounts, although he seems to spend more time making cups of tea than he does actually working. 

“Could be anyone,” Julian says, leaning forward from behind them. Julian is the newest member of the team. He had been a Tory politician in a previous life, before the sex scandal of course. Now he handles contract negotiation for their little branch. In James’ opinion the man is utterly obnoxious, but he does have to admit that he is frustratingly good at his job. 

“I just hope she will be as radiantly beautiful as a wildflower in the first blooms of spring,” Thomas, their marketing lead, sighs. Thomas possesses three things: an English degree, a trust fund, and a total lack of talent for poetry. The latter of these does not stop the man from attempting to compose rambling lengths of prose when he is supposed to be doing his actual job, though. 

“Thomas…” Humphrey, their HR manager, says as he pokes his head around the door. He looks exhausted already, and it’s barely ten in the morning. Thomas grumbles out a short apology before sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I’m sure whoever it is, they’ll be lovely!” Kitty exclaims with a grin from the front row. Kitty is fresh out of university, and it shows through her glaring optimism. James is oddly fond of her, though, and has taken her under his wing somewhat as she finds her feet in PR. 

“As long as she not be a witch,” Mary adds sagely. Mary is an odd duck, but reliable. She puts customers at ease when she is manning the phone lines, but does not put up with any funny business from them. She and Kitty are fast friends, and have been for a long time. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Robin grunts from next to Julian. Robin… Well, nobody is quite sure what Robin does. He has been at the company longer than anyone, practically since the office had opened if the rumours are to be believed. He doesn’t follow any of the office rules, seems to do no work, spends his days watching conspiracy theory videos on YouTube, and yet has still not been fired. “All managers the same. All want us to work.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” James asks, turning to face Robin. 

“I don’t think anything’s wrong with that, Cap,” Pat says.

That is another thing. Nobody ever calls James by his name. They have never done so. On his first day, somebody had asked him what his previous job had been, and when he’d replied that he’d been in the army, a captain, someone else had called him ‘The Captain’ and the name had stuck. He isn’t sure if Pat or Julian even know his name. 

James opens his mouth to reply, but before he can say anything, the door flies open and in comes rushing a woman. She is young, wearing smart trousers, a colourful shirt and battered trainers, with mousy brown hair loose around her shoulders. Her arms are full of folders. She comes to a stop in the middle of the room in front of them, depositing her documents and letting out a sigh of relief. 

“Sorry I’m late!” she says. “First the shower wouldn’t heat up, then the car wouldn’t start, then…” She trails off, giving them a small, embarrassed smile. “You don’t need to hear about all that. I’m Alison Cooper, and I’m your new manager.”

Mumbled greetings ripple through the room from the gathered staff. This somewhat unenthusiastic welcome does not deter Alison, who continues to smile at them. “I know you had Heather here for a long time, and you’re probably pretty used to doing things a certain way. I’m not here to mess with that, I promise!”

“That mean she is,” Robin leans forward and helpfully murmurs.

“But I am hoping to help you guys really maximise your potential here. I really want to get to know you all! And for that--”

“Ali, Ali, sorry!”

A young man flies through the door this time. He is wearing a hoodie, jeans and a beanie cap, and doesn’t seem to realise that there is a room full of people in front of him. He’d make a very fine soldier, James thinks to himself. “Sorry, managed to park the car. I think--” 

James clears his throat. The man seems to realise that there are people there then, and stops. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Alison says quickly. “Why don’t you go get set up, yeah?”

The man mumbles something, mouths another apology to the group, and flees. 

“Anyway,” Alison continues, the winning smile back on her face despite the interruption. “I want to get to know you guys properly, and I thought we could do some icebreakers!”

The group collectively bites back a groan. Not icebreakers. Anything but icebreakers. Everybody knows that icebreakers are one of the worst things that can be announced in any business situation. James opens his mouth to protest after looking around and realising that nobody else is about to, but Alison is already ploughing on. “For example, that guy there is my husband, Mike. He’s starting in IT here today. Do any of you guys have spouses?”

Here, Pat’s expression becomes somewhat pained. The divorce is still fresh then, James reasons. Julian is grinning salaciously, no doubt excited to share some disgusting story about his latest fling. As far as James is aware, none of the others have partners. Humphrey does, he thinks, a French woman if he is remembering correctly. There are rumours about Mary having a long-term girlfriend named Annie, but he’s never had that confirmed. Yes, they are all single, aren’t they? 

He looks at Alison as the silence stretches through the room. She really is so young. She is beginning to look slightly crestfallen underneath the grin. He glances around, suppressing a sigh. He really has worked so hard to keep his life private, as well. 

“I’m married,” he says. 

The reaction is instantaneous. Everybody turns to look at him. The expressions range from confused to shocked to straight up disbelief. He does his best not to shrink down into his seat. 

“...To a woman?” Julian chances, being the first to speak. From around the corner, Humphrey sharply says his name. Confidence restored all of a sudden, James glares at him. 

“His name is Anthony,” he says. 

“You’re having us on,” Pat exclaims. “You’ve worked here for a year and none of us knew you were married!”

“Nobody ever asked,” James replies defensively. 

“You don’t normally need to ask about that sort of thing, mate. You don’t have his picture on your desk or anything.”

“You’re not even wearing a wedding ring!” Thomas complains. 

“What does this Anthony do, then?” Julian asks. He sounds sceptical. 

“He’s in the army,” James says shortly. 

“Oh, of course. The army,” Julian replies. His added “very convenient" is muffled by a sudden hacking cough.

“It really is none of your business,” James snaps. 

Julian opens his mouth to say something else but Alison, sensing the tension growing in the room, steps forward.

“Thank you for sharing,” she says earnestly, grinning at him. “Does anybody else want to talk about their partner?” 

Realising that this is his chance, James quietly excuses himself and slips from the room. It is for the best, he reasons, before Pat starts blubbering about Carol or Thomas starts to go on about that girl who had left him for his cousin in secondary school. He glances at his watch. Quarter past ten. Just enough time to make a cup of tea. 

As he walks back to his desk, cup of tea in hand, he can hear snatches of conversation through the door where the others are still gathered. Good Lord, is the meeting still going? He can’t hear much, just the odd word: “real”, “test”, “crack”. What on earth are they talking about? Thank God he isn’t in there anymore. Shaking his head, he sits down at his desk, sips his tea, and opens up his latest spreadsheet. 

***

“Hello, love.”

“Hello, Anthony dear. How was the drive?”

“It was bloody awful, James. I had to stop at the services three times, and then I went around a roundabout four times trying to get back onto the right side of the motorway from one of them because the sat-nav decided to go on strike.”

“Oh dear! Are you settling in alright up there? I hope the room isn’t too dreadful.”

“No, it’s alright, actually. Standard barracks room, you know? It’s not a lot, but it’s only temporary.”

“Six months, though. You’ll end up hurting your back if the bed is bad.”

“Stop fussing. Now come on, how was your day? How’s the new boss?”

“She’s terribly young. She tried to get us to do icebreakers in the meeting this morning.”

“She didn’t!”

“Oh, she did. She asked about spouses, actually.”

“No, don’t tell me. Do the people you spend eight hours a day with finally know of my existence?”

“..."

“I’m proud of you, babe. You finally told them about me!”

“You’re acting as if I don’t tell anyone you exist.”

“Oh come on, you know I’m messing with you. What did they say?”

“They didn’t say anything, really. I’m a little worried that they think you don’t exist.”

“I’m sure they don’t think that, love.” 

“It doesn’t matter, anyhow. You’re going to be gone for six months, it’s not as if you can come along to any of those awful office events they insist on holding.”

“Shut up, you loved that paintballing night and you know it.”

“The paintballing was an exception.” 

“Stop being such a misery guts! You know you love them really.”

“I most certainly do not.”

“You know you love me, though.”

“...I do. You will come home soon, won’t you?”

“As soon as I can, love. I’m meeting the CO tomorrow, so I’ll let you know what he says.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too. Are you sleeping at the cottage or on-base tonight?”

“The cottage. There’s some sort of event at the base today, lots of bigwigs, apparently. I thought it might be easier to get parked here.”

“God, I don’t blame you for avoiding camp when it’s like that. I heard somebody here saying we’re getting some sort of visit tomorrow.”

“Well, I wish you luck.”

“You’ve eaten, haven’t you?”

“I have.”

“And you’ve taken your meds?”

“Yes! Anthony, I am capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know, I know. I just… miss you.”

“It’s been one night, dear.”

“I know. It doesn’t bode well, does it?”

“No, not really.”

“Right, well, I won’t keep you. I need to go and get some food before the mess shuts, anyway. I’ll call you tomorrow, same time?”

“That sounds lovely, Anthony.”

“Alright then. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

***

MOD Lyneham, 2002

James huffed as he hauled the last box into the room. New postings always came with an unnecessary amount of hassle. Between packing up his old flat, putting the things that wouldn’t fit into this place or the car into storage, driving here, and bringing all the boxes not only into the building but up four flights of stairs because of course the lift was out of order, it was rather a lot of faff. 

He’d been happy enough at his old posting. It had been nice and quiet, or at least it had been until this blasted war had started. Now, he and countless others were being relocated here to the Defence School of Electrical and Mechanical Engineering at Lyneham in order to sharpen up their training before being shipped out to either Afghanistan or Iraq. Nobody seemed to be able to answer him when he asked how long it would be until deployment, or how long they would be sequestered here in Wiltshire. It wasn’t that James didn’t like Wiltshire, it was just that he liked his previous base more. He knew everybody there, for starters. 

He glanced around the room. It was fairly standard: a bed, a wardrobe, a bathroom, a small desk tucked in the corner. Currently, it was covered in boxes, all of which would need unpacking. Sighing, he buried his face in his hands. 

A gentle knock on the still-open door startled him, making him turn around. Standing there, his arm still half-raised and a sheepish look on his face, was another man. He was a lieutenant, James quickly realised as he saw the stripes on his uniform. He was attractive, too. A strong jaw, mousy brown hair, and a light smile. 

“Hello,” James said, and instantly fought the urge to kick himself at how stupid he sounded. 

“Hello, sir,” the man said. He didn’t step forward, continuing to stand on the edge of the doorframe. “I noticed you were moving in, and thought I’d introduce myself. Lieutenant Anthony Havers. I’m your next door neighbour.”

“Pleased to meet you, lieutenant,” James replied, giving him a smile. Coming forward, he offered his hand. Havers took it. “I’m Captain James Hutchins.” He looked over Havers again. He looked smart, even in standard-issue fatigues. The beret in his hands, however, caught his eye. “Say, are you REME?”

“Yes, sir!” Havers laughed. “I’m a vehicle mechanic, but I dabble in avionics from time to time. What about yourself?”

“I’m an armourer,” James said. Havers raised his eyebrows a little, but didn’t say anything. “I very nearly went into vehicle mechanics, though. I find it fascinating.”

Havers smiled then, and James could have sworn that his eyes were sparkling. They stared at each other, smiling, for far too long until Havers finally cleared his throat and looked away. 

“I’m not sure if it’s of any interest to you, sir, and if you need to unpack, don’t feel as though you have to say yes on my account,” he said. He sounded nervous, his words almost jumbling and bumping into each other. “But apparently they’re doing coffee and cake down in the mess, if you’re interested in raiding it with me before all the good cakes are gone?”

“I’d love to, lieutenant,” James said, and stepped out, shutting his door behind him. 

Little did James know that that would not be the last time he saw Anthony Havers. After they had spent a good two hours drinking copious amounts of tea and stealing the best cakes right from under the noses of the Majors and Lieutenant Colonels who were dotted around the mess, they had gone back upstairs and said their goodbyes. James had spent the rest of the night lying on his bed rather than unpacking, sternly reminding himself that just two years ago it was illegal to be gay in the army and that Havers was most likely straight anyway. He’d fallen asleep thinking about him, though, and woken up thinking about him, being disappointed when he emerged from his room and didn’t see Havers there. 

The training, it turned out, was not a refresher course as they had been told. It was, in fact, training intended to turn them all into all-rounders. It certainly explained why everybody here was an officer. The stern-faced Colonel had announced to them that they were to be paired off, and they would work on one skill a day. For now, they were to go and ‘get to know each other’ once the pairings were announced.  

James sat, anxiety building in his chest as the Colonel rattled off the list of names and who they would be paired with. He recognised a couple of the names, but only in passing. He’d very much kept himself to himself in basic training, and it was a trend that had continued for his entire time in the army--all sixteen years of it. 

“Captain Hutchins!” the Colonel called. He jumped up, glancing around. “And Lieutenant Havers!”

There he was, standing up on the other side of the room and giving him that lovely smile again. There was a warm feeling growing in his chest just looking at it, and he forced himself to squash it down. Of all of the people he could have been paired with… 

The two of them made their way to the back of the room as the Colonel continued to call out names, slipping out of the room together. James was suddenly very, very aware that he knew nothing about this base, and could hardly tell you where the bathrooms were, let alone where anything else was. 

“Fancy seeing you again, sir!” Havers said with a grin. 

“Yes, quite,” James said, attempting to give Havers a smile of his own. 

“What’re the chances, eh? Not only are we right next door to each other, but now we’ve been paired up for training!” 

My lucky day, James thought to himself. 

“I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to teach you, Lieutenant,” he said instead. Havers frowned at him then. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, sir,” he replied. “From what I hear, you’re the best in the business.”

“Really?”

“On my life, sir. I’ve been told that if you want a gun fixing, you’re the man to go to.”

James felt himself flush with pride, and just a tiny bit of embarrassment. He was indeed good with guns. He’d always been interested in them, ever since his father had first shown him a hunting rifle when he was just six years old. He’d fixed his first, an old Bren gun his father had been given by a buddy, when he was eleven, and it had grown from there. He’d always been interested in vehicles, especially those from the Second World War, but his talent lay with guns. 

“Thank you,” he managed to stammer out after a moment. Havers smiled at him again, that damn smile that kept making him feel so fuzzy inside. “I must say, I’m very much looking forward to getting my hands on a tank.”

“There’s nothing better,” Havers said, nodding his head sagely. He glanced back at the doors. “Do you… actually know what we’re supposed to be doing right now?”

“Honestly?” James said. Havers nodded. “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

“Thank God it’s not just me,” Havers said with a heavy sigh of relief. He glanced around again before turning back. “Do you think they’ll know if we just go and have a cuppa?”

“It’s a good thing I already unpacked my kettle,” James said, and smiled.

Chapter Text

“Me again. Sorry for ringing during World War Two hour on the History channel. Probably why you didn’t pick up! Just wanted to say that the first week was alright. Everyone seems nice enough. The food definitely isn’t as good as in our mess hall, though! Just wanted to tell you to keep an eye out for the postman tomorrow. Nothing to worry about, just a little present to say sorry for not being there for our anniversary. Call me when you get a chance. Love you.”

***

The moment that James walks into the office, he knows that something is wrong. 

Well, not wrong, per se, more… unusual. The office looks the same as ever. Nobody has watered the sad spider plant on the windowsill yet this week, and he adds it to his mental list of jobs for the day. It looks like maintenance has finally fixed the wonky blind, but that’s not the unusual thing. No, the unusual thing is the fact that everybody is standing in a huddle in the middle of the office. 

He stares at them for a moment. None of them looked up when he opened the door, and none of them seem to notice that he’s standing just ten feet away from them now. They’re talking in hushed tones, and he can’t make out what they’re saying. He watches them for another few moments, and when they don’t move, he clears his throat. 

They jump apart like a shot, all turning to face him. Their expressions range from shocked (Kitty) to guilty (Pat) to ecstatic (Julian). James regards them strangely. 

“You’re here early,” Pat squeaks after a few moments. James frowns.

“So are you,” he says as he glances at his watch. Yes, 0833. None of them are normally here before 0900. He scrutinises them all again. Nothing. “Why are you all here?”

“No reason,” Julian says breezily. The others nod and murmur agreements. 

“We were talking about you being married!” Kitty exclaims, rather ruining the moment. 

“Why on earth were you all discussing that?” James asks. He walks past them in order to place his bag on his desk before turning back and placing his hands on his hips as he glared at them. That had always worked on unruly recruits, but it doesn’t seem to be having much effect on the group gathered before him. 

“We were just interested,” Thomas says, his tone defensive.

“None of us know anything about him,” Fanny points out. 

“You managed to hide his existence for an entire year,” Julian says as he steps forward. The others shrink back, clearly happy with letting Julian take on the role of spokesperson for the group. “We simply wanted to ask some questions.”

“About Anthony?” James asked. The group all nod. James takes a moment, thinking it over. Then… “No,” he says.

The group explodes into questions. They’re loud, overlapping and overwhelming, and James suppresses a wince. Something tells him that it’s unlikely that they will stop asking anytime soon. He also thinks that this is especially true if he refuses to answer any and all questions. He glances between them. Kitty looks almost excited. Over the past year, Kitty has told him a lot about her life, especially her family and her ghastly sister. Pat has, rather against James’ will, shared a lot about his ex-wife and his young son. In fact, most of them have shared many private details with him. 

“Fine!” he shouts over them. The clamouring quiets instantly, all of them falling silent. They’re looking right at him, expectation clear on their faces, and he can feel his skin crawling. Abort, abort, his mind is screaming. “One question,” he says. 

“Just one?” Thomas groans. This time, the glare does work, and Thomas cowers. 

“In the next two minutes, if you please. And if you’re going to squabble like schoolchildren over this, then I won’t answer anything.” 

Pointedly he looks at his watch. This time the questions are hushed, being exchanged between the group. Each one is examined, some discarded and some shelved as a potential one to ask. James stands, staring at his watch and trying to ignore the jumble of words coming from the group. Three seconds before the two minutes is up, Julian clears his throat and steps forward. 

“What we want to know is this,” he says. James rolls his eyes. “How long have you and Anthony been an item?”

James considers it for a moment. The question is an okay one. The details are limited, and there isn’t much they can ascertain from that. 

“Seventeen years,” he tells them. 

Eyebrows raise. Glances are exchanged. Robin mouths something to Julian. Mary whispers something in Kitty’s ear. James watches it all, nonplussed. 

“That’s a long time,” Pat says. “Had you known each other long when you got together?”

“We met the same year,” James answers without thinking. He shakes himself. “That’s two questions. I said one.”

“Come on, it’s a follow up,” Thomas says. 

“Basically the same question,” Julian agrees. 

“2002!” Robin exclaims. James frowns at him. 

“2002, yes,” he replies, nonplussed. 

“Wasn’t there a war on?” Pat asks. James looks at him sharply. 

“We were at a training base. Does it really matter?” He frowns at them all again. “I answered the question.”

“Yes, I suppose you dids,” Mary says. James swears that he sees her wink at Kitty. Shaking his head, he sighs and looks down at his watch again. 0842. It’s almost time for his second cup of tea of the morning. If the rest of them want to keep playing twenty questions, they can do it amongst themselves. As they continue to talk, he slips away from the group and heads towards the kitchen. 

***

“Good evening, Anthony dearest.”

“Hiya love. You’re in a good mood tonight!” 

“It’s an A30 Challenger! The last one I needed for my collection.”

“I see the postman came.”

“Thank you, dear. You really didn’t have to.” 

“Stop it with that. I wanted to. I thought it might keep you busy for a little while.”

“Oh, it will.”

“How was work?”

“They were asking about you again. I let them have one question.”

“What was the question?”

“How long we’d been together.”

“Seventeen years… it seems like a lifetime, doesn’t it?” 

“It does, rather. I think young Katherine was only six or so then.”

“God, stop. You’re making me feel old.”

“I fear we are old now.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Okay. How was your day?”

“Well, you know what the first few days on base are like. It’s mostly been meeting people. I’ve got my first training class with the recruits tomorrow.”

“How many times have you gotten lost?”

“...Four.”

“You haven’t.”

“I wandered into the PT building yesterday. Had to run out before they all started talking about my shoulder.”

“Have they said anything about any planned training exercises yet?”

“Nothing yet, but you know what it’s like. I have no doubt I’ll be spending a lovely week in a damp muddy field in north Wales before long.”

“You’re a Major. You’ll get a decent tent.”

“Quite frankly I’d rather have a Premier Inn. My back can’t take sleeping on the ground anymore.”

“But you’re okay, yes?”

“I’m fine, James. Don’t go worrying yourself about me when I’m absolutely fine.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would.”

“Did the CO say anything about leave?”

“No, he didn’t. Said he’d have to look at the calendar. He is a uniquely frustrating man.”

“You’ve been there less than a week. You can’t possibly have a problem with the CO already.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m probably just being grumpy.”

“I know.”

“You’re looking at the tank, aren’t you?”

“It’s hundreds of pieces!”

“I’ll leave you to it, love. Send me a photo when you finish it. I’ll try and sort out leave for our anniversary as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay, darling. I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

***

MOD Lyneham, 2002

“Will you go on a date with me?”

James and Anthony had known each other for two months. In that time, Anthony had taught James how to fix various types of tanks, and how to cut yourself on a helicopter blade. In turn, James had taught Anthony how to fix multiple machine guns, and how to nearly shoot yourself in the foot when you forget to unload the clip. They had shared many meals, hidden from COs when hungover after mess dos, and once stole a sign from the rec centre just to see if they could. 

And Anthony had just blurted these words out in the middle of the mess hall. 

He was bright red, staring down at his plate and practically radiating heat from his flushing cheeks. He kept fidgeting in his seat. He was glancing around the room, as if he was hoping nobody had heard him even though he’d said it so loudly that half the camp probably knew what he’d said. 

James was staring at him, and had been for almost a minute. These were the words he’d almost been praying that he’d hear ever since he’d first turned around and seen Anthony Havers standing in his doorway. For the last two months, however, he’d been telling himself that it would never happen, that Anthony was straight and had no interest in him beyond friendship and a professional relationship. Now that Anthony had said it, said those words out loud, however, it was like his brain had short-circuited. All of a sudden, his brain and mouth were not connected, and he had no idea what to say, 

“I…” is all he had managed to say. 

“It’s fine,” Anthony said quickly. His blush was even brighter now. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I-I mean you’re my superior, we work together, I shouldn’t have--”

“Yes!”

James had finally regained the power of speech for long enough to shout that one word. It was now Anthony’s turn to stare, his mouth still open and a small, slightly strangled noise coming from him. “Yes,” James repeated. He could feel his own blush building as he became aware of a number of people in the room, both other officers and the staff, watching them. “I will go on a date with you. I-I want to go on a date with you.”

“You do?” Anthony breathed. James nodded, giving him a small smile. “Um… okay! I, uh, I…” Anthony trailed off, laughing and looking down at the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck. “To be honest, I didn’t really plan this far ahead.”

“Friday,” James said. He was feeling oddly confident as he leant forward. “1900.”

“Could I interest you in the fancy Italian restaurant in town?” Anthony asked. 

“I should think that you can,” James said, and grinned. 

That was three days ago. Now it was Friday, and James was wishing that he’d given himself more time to prepare. 

The fact that he knew Anthony was just on the other side of the wall as he tried on countless combinations of shirts and trousers was not helping. No doubt Anthony was already dressed and was probably waiting for him. They were supposed to be leaving in less than fifteen minutes, and whilst he’d managed to choose a pair of trousers, a shirt was not making itself known. 

He’d narrowed it down to four shirts, but none of them were the right shirt. Why he couldn’t just wear his uniform he did not understand, but it wasn’t really the done thing, and people in town would probably look at them a little funny. He had hung them up against the wardrobe and was examining them in the same way he would a particularly troublesome gun. Shirt one had a nicer collar, but shirt two had a more pleasant pattern. Shirt four was a pleasing colour, one his mother told him many years ago looked good on him, but shirt three looked smarter. He wasn’t entirely sure if any of them matched with the trousers he’d picked out. Briefly he considered calling his sister out of utter desperation, but he didn’t want to be subjected to twenty minutes of wedding talk, twenty minutes he didn’t have. 

The shirt had to be right. If the shirt wasn’t right, then he wouldn’t feel right. If he didn’t feel right, then the date wouldn’t be right. If the date wasn’t right, then his chance, his one chance, with Anthony was gone. James was not about to let his chance with Anthony slip through his fingers. So the shirt needed to be perfect. 

Shirt one was itchy, and shirt two was a little too tight around the shoulders. Shirt four was too long for him, and shirt three--

Knock! Knock!

Shirt three would be fine.

He threw it on, buttoning it as fast as possible before grabbing his jacket from the back of the door and thanking God that he’d already put his shoes on. He checked his hair in the mirror, deciding that it would simply have to do before striding over and opening the door. 

Anthony looked perfectly, effortlessly handsome. He was dressed casually in a pair of chinos, a polo shirt and a smart casual jacket, and he was smiling almost nervously. 

“Ready to go?” he said.

“Absolutely,” James replied, praying that his nerves weren’t showing in his voice. 

Ignoring the clothing disaster, he was actually prepared. He’d studied the menu for the restaurant, having chosen his meal in his head two days ago. He had extensively researched the most reliable taxi company in the local area to ensure they wouldn’t end up stranded away from camp. He’d even put on that nice watch that his father had gotten for him when he’d been commissioned as an officer which he hardly ever wore for fear of breaking it.

Even so, he knew there were a million tiny ways that this date could go disastrously wrong. Beyond the main fears, including setting the tablecloth on fire and causing the sprinklers in the restaurant to go off, was the small, nagging worry that Anthony simply would not like him. It’s not that he wouldn’t like him at all, no, nothing like that. It had been two months now of seeing each other every day, and there was no denying that they got on like a house on fire. No, this was the fear that they would finally get to their date, James would bugger it all up, and Anthony would realise that he didn’t actually like him romantically all that much. 

The taxi ride into town was quiet. They exchanged the odd word or statement, mostly things to do with work and what they had to do next week. James couldn’t help but notice how Anthony kept glancing out of the window, like he was looking for something or someone as they drove through the winding lanes towards Chippenham. He forced himself to push it out of his mind. 

Whilst he was loath to admit it, it had been a long time since he’d been on a date. Until two years ago, if he’d have been found to be gay whilst enlisted it would have been an immediate discharge. Whilst there had been a few men who he had been interested in over the years, none of them had been worth risking his job for. The two years since they’d rescinded the rule had been tainted by the outbreak of a war, and there hadn’t really been much time for dating. 

When they reached the restaurant, Anthony had insisted on pulling his chair out for him. Not wanting to seem impolite James had accepted, despite the fact that the plan he had in his head saw him doing this for Anthony. The waiter left two menus, and said he would shortly return with a wine list. 

“You look very handsome, James,” Anthony said with a smile as he perused the menu. His eyes were sparkling in the low light of a restaurant. James paused in squinting at the menu, wishing that either the writing wasn’t so small or the light was a bit brighter, in order to smile and blush. 

“So do you,” he mumbled, and continued to stare at his menu. 

“Shall we, uh… order a bottle of wine?” Anthony asked. 

Wine. Yes, please God, wine. He’d studied the wine menu, and he’d already identified a reasonably priced bottle. He nodded gratefully. 

“Is white okay?” he said. 

Anthony’s face did something strange then. It was like he was trying to frown, his eyebrows furrowing, but his mouth wouldn’t make the expression. His fingers were flexing, tightening and loosening against the edge of the menu. 

“Yeah, of course,” he then said. He sounded… happy? James wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, though, was that he’d said yes, and that meant he could enjoy two, maybe three glasses of white wine, which would hopefully calm his nerves a little. Anthony beckoned the waiter over, and just as James was about to open his mouth and order, his date stopped him. 

“Your best bottle of white, please,” he said. 

“Of course, sir,” the waiter said. 

James’ eyebrows flew to his hairline. Either the man was aggressively Italian, or he was putting on the most exaggerated Italian accent ever attempted by a human being. Anthony was hiding his face behind his menu, but James could tell he was laughing from the way his shoulders were shaking. “Would you like to taste?”

“No, no,” James said quickly, before Anthony gave himself a conniption fit trying not to make any noise. “Just the bottle will be fine, thank you.”

Anthony waited until the waiter was halfway back to the bar before lowering the menu to show his eyes. He was smiling, his shoulders still shaking with laughter. 

“Oh my God,” he breathed. His voice was shaking with giggles. “We have to change waiters.”

“Anthony, we can’t,” James said, leaning forward. “What if he’s actually Italian?”

“There is no way that man is from Italy.”

“Yes, I know, but if he is, we’re going to get kicked out!” 

Of course, the waiter chose that moment to reappear. Luckily the exchange was silent, the bottle of wine being produced and two glasses being poured. James grabbed his glass immediately, gulping half of it down. They watched as the waiter disappeared into the restaurant. 

“Are you open to sharing a starter?” Anthony asked once his laughter had died down. James, confidence restored a little by the wine, smiled and nodded. This was nice, normal date behaviour. People shared food on dates. Anthony smiled at him, glanced back at the menu. “How about the bruschetta? I’ve heard that the one here is lovely.”

Ah. That presented an issue. Bruschetta involved raw tomatoes, something James couldn’t stomach. He’d never liked them, finding the texture too slimy to be palatable. He had already picked his starter, the mussels in a cream and white wine sauce, but Anthony looked so excited. Surely he could fight his way through it for one evening?”

“That sounds nice,” he said. 

The waiter who took their food order was, thankfully, a different one to the great Italian impersonator. It was a quick interaction, with them deciding to order their mains later, much to James’ relief. The starter issue had sent him rather off kilter, and he needed time to reconsider his main choice. 

They chatted as they waited for their starter. The incident with the maybe-Italian-maybe-not-Italian waiter had broken the ice, and the conversation was now flowing freely. It was like they were back in the mess hall, eating whatever delicacy the base had ordered for that week and comparing notes on their basic training. It was nice. Normal. 

Then the starter arrived.

James stared at it. It stared at him. Piled high with raw diced tomatoes, it was worse than he'd imagined. Anthony was smiling, already reaching forward to put some on his plate. He was looking at James expectantly, gesturing to the starter. 

“I’m going for a cigarette!” James blurted, grabbed his jacket and fled. 

The first hit of nicotine was like a sigh of relief. He leaned against the wall outside the restaurant, watching the first drops of rain bounce from the pavement. It was starting to get dark already. Oh God, what was Anthony going to think of him? He let out a plume of smoke, looking up to the sky. Why couldn’t he have just eaten the damn thing? Plenty of people ate it every day. Maybe the wine was getting to him.

“James?”

Anthony. He must have followed him. Panicking, he tried to hide the cigarette behind his back, before remembering that that was what he’d told Anthony in the first place and moving his hand back. He turned to look at him. 

Anthony was just closing the restaurant door behind him. He looked worried, pulling his coat on as he glanced behind him. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” James half-laughed. He took another drag on his cigarette, and vaguely wondered whether he should offer Anthony one. 

“You ran out of there pretty quickly,” Anthony said as he came forward, leaning against the wall to James’ right. James shrugged a little. 

“I’m… not good at this,” he said falteringly. He turned his head so that he could look at Anthony. “I couldn’t eat the starter. I hate tomatoes, I always have. But you really wanted them, and I didn’t know how to say no.”

Anthony smiled at him. It was soft, gentle. 

“I hate white wine,” he said. 

“You do?” James exclaimed. He pushed himself off of the wall, turning fully to Anthony. Nodding, Anthony chuckled. 

“Absolutely loathe it. I didn’t drink any of it.” He too pushed away from the wall, standing in front of James. “James, I just spent nearly two hundred quid on a bottle of wine and some admittedly shit bruschetta.”

“I--”

“I like you. I like you a lot, and I wanted to impress you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” James said. He stubbed the cigarette out on the wall before taking a step forward. “I would have--”

Anthony cut him off with a kiss. 

It caught James by surprise. None of his plans for the evening had included a kiss. It didn’t mean that he was upset about it, oh no. Actually, it was possibly the best surprise that the evening could have brought. They broke apart slowly, both of them grinning. “I like you too,” James murmured. 

“I think we can both agree that that was possibly the worst first date ever, yes?” Anthony said, a slightly cheeky grin on his face. James laughed, nodding. “Can I interest you in a replacement date next week? Just coffee, I promise.”

“I think I could go for coffee,” James replied. Anthony held out his hand. James took it. With one last look at the restaurant, they started off down the street. 

“Oh, and James?”

“Yes?”

“Could you pay for the taxi back? That wine practically bloody bankrupted me.”

Chapter Text

“Hiya. Did you put your phone on silent and leave it in another room again? You really have to stop doing that, love. Anyway, I am actually calling for a reason! My mother called and said that she wanted to invite you for Sunday dinner at hers next week, but she didn’t have your number. I know you find it awkward being there on your own with them, but please go? It’ll make her feel useful. Text me when you get this and let me know, yeah? Love you, I’ll speak to you later.”

***

When James walks into the office, everybody is waiting for him again.

It’s been a week since their first question about Anthony, and he’s been left alone. Stupidly he’s been hoping that they have forgotten about the whole thing. Given the expectant way that they’re looking at him now as he puts his bag down at his desk, they have not forgotten at all. Alison has joined them today, standing towards the back of the group. He’s too tired for this.

“Fine,” he says. “One question. And I mean one this time. No follow-ups.”

This time, Thomas steps forward. James raises an eyebrow, and only slightly relishes in the tiny step back Thomas takes. 

“Just one,” he squeaks. “Have you, um… met each other’s families?”

James stares at him. That is possibly one of the stupidest questions he has ever heard, and he once had a recruit ask him if it was possible to fire a machine gun without the barrel attached. 

“We’ve been together for seventeen years,” he replies. “Of course we have.”

“I told yous to asks another one!” Mary hisses to the group. There is a general grumbling agreement, and Thomas slinks back into the fold, clearly embarrassed. 

“I really do not understand what you all find so endlessly fascinating about my husband,” James complains as he makes his way to the kitchen for his morning cup of tea. The group follows him like a gaggle of lost ducklings. Turning on his heel, he glares at them all. 

“It’s like we said last week,” Pat says. “We don’t really know anything about him. Or… you, really.”

“I’m sorry?” James splutters. The group are all nodding in agreement with Pat. “You know plenty about me!”

“I know three things about you,” Julian says. “And one of them is that you used to be in the army.”

“I still don’t understand why that necessitates all of these questions,” James says. He clicks the kettle on. For a moment he considers asking the group whether any of them want a drink but decides that no, they don’t deserve it. They get tea when they learn how to stop being nosy buggers. 

“When one is with another person for seventeen years, it is unusual for them not to be mentioned,” Fanny tells him haughtily. James and Fanny get on very well. They generally have an understanding, and it’s unusual for Fanny to agree with anything that the rest of the office is doing. The way that she’s looking at him now, and the fact that she appears to be in on whatever this is, is making him squirm. 

“I prefer to keep my private life just that,” he says. “Private.”

“But you’ve never even mentioned him,” Kitty points out. “Don’t people who love each other talk about each other all the time?”

James doesn’t quite know what to say to that. This office is the first workplace where he and Anthony’s relationship has not been common knowledge. He’s never mentioned Anthony because he’s never come up in conversation, and he has honestly forgotten that they would not know about him. It hasn’t been an intentional deception on his part, but now that he knows that they don’t know, there’s a part of him that wants to keep Anthony private. 

“That they may well do,” he finds himself saying. “But Anthony and I are private people.”

This, he knows, is a lie. Anthony is the farthest thing from private and adores showing off their relationship whenever he can, particularly in front of tight-laced and slightly homophobic higher-ups when he knows they can’t say anything against them. The office does not need to know this fact, though. 

“Can we keep asking questions?” Robin grunts. James thinks it over for a moment. 

“Yes,” he says carefully. “But not constant questions. I also reserve the right to not answer questions if I don’t want to.” With this, he glares at Julian. The man in question holds his hands up in mock surrender. 

“So you have met each other’s families?” Thomas repeats. James rolls his eyes.

“Yes. Surprisingly, I had met my husband’s parents before we got married.”

***

“Hi, darling.”

“Hiya James, love. Did you get my voicemail?”

“I did. Do I have to go?”

“Well, no, but I’d rather you did.”

“It’s going to be awkward. I never spend any time with them on my own.”

“My brother will be there as well, so it won’t just be you!”

“What if I have plans with my own mother?”

“Do you?”

“Well… no. But I could!”

“And if you did, then I’d tell my parents that you’re very sorry, but you can’t make it. As you don’t…”

“Fine. Is your mother making a roast dinner, at least?”

“She said she was.”

“Well, I suppose I could make it.”

“I should’ve started with that! Thank you, love, really. I’d go myself, but…"

“You’re still waiting on leave approval, I know.”

“I wouldn’t worry, though. My parents love you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I am! They’re constantly asking about you, you know. I think they prefer you to me.”

“Don’t be silly. Do I need to take anything with me on Sunday?”

“Just take a bottle of wine or something. You being there is the main thing.”

“Very well.”

“Why don’t you make a day of it? Go down to that little bookshop in town you love, get a coffee and some lunch or something.”

“On my own?"

“Put your earphones in and finish that podcast you’ve been listening to.”

“What would I do without you?”

“That is a very good question. I’ll text mum later, tell her you’re coming. Thank you, babe, really.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow to sort out timings. I’ve got to go. Love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

***

Oxford, 2003

This, James thought, was what having a breakdown felt like. 

When Anthony had suggested dinner with his parents, he’d been imagining a pub, drinks, something casual. He’d thought it would be an hour, maybe two, that they’d graciously pay the bill and then be on their way back to camp before nine. 

Apparently, he had been very, very wrong. They weren’t going to a pub at all. They were at Anthony’s childhood home, a fact that he discovered a mere five minutes before they arrived. There were drinks, but so far they had been non-alcoholic. He’d taken to sneaking out to the car for a cigarette under the guise of having forgotten something whenever he needed a moment, but his pack was running low and Anthony had given him a strange look the last time he’d done it. 

Right now, they were sitting at the dining table. Mrs Havers had made lasagne, and clearly Anthony had phoned ahead because his side salad was the only one with no tomatoes. They didn’t say grace, as had been the custom in James’ house growing up, and dived into their dinners quickly, chatting amongst themselves about their work, their hobbies, really anything that seemed to come to their minds.

James couldn’t help but sit there, stunned. Dinners in his family were a silent affair, where you were to eat everything on your plate, I don’t care if you don’t like it, boy and not say a single word whilst doing so. Here, Anthony was telling his father about their misadventures the week before with an ancient tank that had been pulled out of storage and needed fixing before it could go on display in a museum. Not only that, but his father was responding with laughter and questions rather than a sharp, barked order to shut up about tanks and eat your food. 

“James knows more about old tanks than I do,” Anthony was saying. James looked up from where he had been staring at his plate in alarm. Anthony smiled at him. “Challenger twos, they’re my forte. James knows all about the old Second World War tanks, though, don’t you?”

They were all looking at him then. He gripped his knife and fork as hard as he could, focusing on the feeling of the cool metal. It wasn’t helping.

“Um…” he managed to say.

“He has this amazing model collection,” Anthony continued, apparently unfazed by James’ lack of response. James could feel his face heating up.

“They’re just toys,” he said quickly. “Nothing to talk about.”

“No, they’re more than that!” Anthony insisted. “He spends hours on them. All tiny, fiddly pieces that need gluing about four times before they’ll stick in place, and painting too!”

“I don’t think I’d have the patience for that!” Mrs Havers said. She was laughing as she did so, but James still felt a bolt of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. His mother used to say that when his model collection was brought up in front of polite company, often as a thinly veiled jab at his apparent oddness. 

“See, that’s where we differ,” Anthony said through half a mouthful of lasagne, gesturing between himself and James with his fork. He paused to swallow and smile at his partner. “He’s the brains, and I’m the brawn.”

James could practically hear his parents’ scandalised gasps and comments. Must you be so vulgar? Keep that talk in the bedroom! This is why these people shouldn’t be allowed. 

He stood up as quickly as he could. The chair screeched against the wooden floor, and he dropped his cutlery with an almighty clatter. All three of them turned to him, alarmed. Anthony was starting to rise from his seat.

“Sorry!” he blurted, and ran out of the room.

As he reached the corridor, he quickly identified the bathroom. Wrenching the door open, he threw himself into the room before shutting the door and locking it. He was alone. Safe. 

He sunk down onto the bathroom floor, his back to the door and his hands trembling as he pressed one to his chest. It was as if he couldn’t get quite enough air into his lungs. It wasn’t a new feeling. He used to get it often as a child, when things were overwhelming or he was feeling particularly anxious. It had been a number of years since he’d experienced the feeling, though, and it was as if every coping strategy he’d ever had had disappeared from his mind.

They hated him. Anthony’s parents hated him. It was clear that they hated him. For one evening, he couldn’t have put on a brave face and pretended to just be a normal person? He could hear voices through the door. Oh God, they were probably talking about him and his dramatic exit. There wasn’t any way in hell he could go back in there now. 

A knock on the door startled him. He moved to jump up, looking at the window and vaguely wondering whether he could fit through it, when Anthony’s soft voice said,

“James? Are you okay?”

What was he supposed to say? No, I’m not okay because I’m fairly sure that your parents hate me and I’m worried that might spell the end of our entire relationship, also I think I might be in love with you? No, he couldn’t say that.

“Fine!” he settled for saying in a slightly strangled voice. 

“Are you sure? You ran out of there pretty quickly.”

“I’m fine.”

He heard Anthony sigh then. It was his frustrated sigh, the one James often heard when their CO told them to do something which made very little sense. Great, now Anthony was annoyed at him. 

Letting out a shaky breath, he drew his knees to his chest. He was a soldier. An officer. Right now, he needed to dig down and drag out the basic training that was still cemented somewhere in his panicked brain. He would leave this bathroom. He would put on a brave face. He would make polite conversation with Mr and Mrs Havers. He would apologise for his outburst. He would go back to base, and he would try to figure out how to avoid Anthony for the rest of their time there.

That was the sticking point of the whole plan. He didn’t want to avoid Anthony. They’d been together for nearly a year, and at this point James was accustomed to having him around all the time. He liked it, in fact. He’d never thought he’d enjoy the constant companionship of somebody, but Anthony has proved himself to be the exception. If pressed, James would maybe even admit that he might lo--

He cut the thought off before it could fully form. No. He’d only ever said that to one man before, and he’d come to regret it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hoping that Anthony couldn’t hear him. 

“Look, just… come on out of there,” Anthony said. “Nobody will say anything, I promise.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he called. Whether the statement would be true, he did not know.

He heard Anthony sigh again. Then there were footsteps moving away. Ah. Right. Well, yes, that was clear enough. He let his head fall onto his knee. He’d buggered this up good and proper now. Anthony was never going to forgive him for embarrassing him like this in front of his parents. What must they think of him? 

When the second knock at the door came, he was too absorbed in his own thoughts to register it. It took another knock to get his attention. He looked up. Had Anthony come back to tell him to get out of the house?

“James?”

Shit, he thought. 

“Mrs Havers!” he said as he jumped up from the floor, panic flooding through him. Oh God, this was bad. Had she come to kick him out of the house? Maybe she was telling him that he was going to have to find his own way back to camp. Would Anthony send his mother to do the whole breaking up business? “I’m sorry. I-I-I-I can leave now.”

“How about you open the door, just to start with?” she replied. James was too busy checking his face in the mirror, making sure he didn’t look too crazed, to reply right away. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He really did not want to, but it seemed impolite to talk to her through the door. Taking a deep breath that didn’t quite seem to fill his lungs, he shook himself and opened the door. 

Mrs Havers was smiling at him. Why was she smiling at him? He tried not to frown at her as he attempted to figure out what the expression meant. Beckoning him forward, she led him through the house. When they went through the dining room Anthony rose from his chair, opening his mouth to say something before his mother silenced him with a look and a shake of her head. They kept walking until they reached the garden. Mrs Havers ushered him outside before following and shutting the door behind her. She walked over and took a seat on one of the garden chairs, gesturing for James to sit on the other one. He did so.

“I’m--” he started, but she cut him off.

“You can smoke out here, you know,” she said. James felt his cheeks flush. She gave him a cheeky smile. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been sneaking out to your car to smoke all night! Nobody forgets that many things.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

“All you had to do was ask.” She slid the ashtray which was sitting on the table over to him. Thanking her quietly, he dug through his pockets for the now slightly crushed packet of cigarettes and his lighter. She allowed him a few drags on the cigarette before she began to speak again. “Anthony told us he was gay when he was fifteen. We’d always had an inkling about it, and we did try our best to let him know that we didn’t mind before he told us. It didn’t matter in the end. He blurted it out at the dinner table, right where he’s sitting now. Before his father or I even had a chance to say anything, he’d run away. He locked himself in that bathroom you were just in, and it was nearly three hours until he opened the door again.”

“I’m sorry,” James said as he tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette. “But why are you telling me this?”

“You’re a little older than my Anthony, aren’t you?”

“Um… yes ma’am. Seven years, to be exact.”

“When did you join the army? Anthony said that you came through as a soldier, not as an officer like he did, so I’m guessing it was a while ago.” 

“1986, ma’am, when I was sixteen.”

“Sixteen…” Sighing, she shook her head. James shifted uncomfortably. “So young. Did your parents not worry?”

“My father said it was the best thing I ever did.”

“I think my Anthony would have joined at sixteen, if I’d let him,” she said. “He’s our youngest, you know. Anthony mentioned that you have a younger sister?”

“Uh… yes, ma’am.”

“Well, I’m sure your mother was the same with her as I am with my Anthony. How did they react?”

“I’m sorry?”

“When you told them that you’re gay?”

James almost choked on the last dregs of his cigarette. Coughing, he dropped the stub into the ashtray, bringing a hand to his chest again. Mrs Havers, to her credit, did not react beyond rubbing his back a little. 

“I apologise,” he said once the coughing had subsided. “I, um… I wasn’t expecting the question.”

“Perfectly alright.”

“They, um…” How did he explain this? “Well, I never really told my father. He was… strict. Old-fashioned, one might say.”

“Has he passed on?”

“Almost five years ago. And my mother…” He laughed a little as he wondered whether it would be appropriate to light up another cigarette. “I told her, once. She didn’t acknowledge it, and I haven’t brought it up since.” 

“When Anthony told us, I only had one wish,” she said. James raised an eyebrow. “I wished that he’d find someone who loved him as much as I love his father.”

“Oh?” James choked out. She nodded. 

“The first man he brought home was not that person. Nor was the second. He was awful, actually, I was very glad when they broke up. But you…” Shaking her head, she smiled at him. “He looks at you like you hung the moons and the stars.”

“He does?”

“You look at him the same way.”

James opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door. They both turned to see Anthony standing there, looking at them from behind the glass. He had his hand half-raised, and was smiling sheepishly at them. Mrs Havers waved to him before putting her hand on James’ knee and squeezing gently. “You’re good for him. Please make sure you tell him?”

“Hi, mum,” Anthony said as he stepped out onto the patio just as his mother let James go and stood up. “Can James and I have a moment?” 

“Of course, dear,” she said. Tell him, she mouthed to James behind her son’s back, and disappeared back into the house, closing the door behind her. 

“I panicked,” James said before Anthony could start talking. He rose from the chair, coming over to stand opposite Anthony. “I… thought they hated me. That you would hate me because they hated me.”

“James, they don’t hate you,” Anthony said. 

“I know. I was just worried.” He took a deep breath, looking at Anthony. He was frowning a little, that crinkle in his brow making itself known. “I like you a lot, Anthony. More than I’ve ever liked anybody, in fact. That’s why I was so worried. Actually, um, I think, maybe, that I might l--”

“Can I say something?”

James felt dread flood him. Numb, he nodded. Smiling, Anthony stepped forward.

“I love you too,” he whispered, and kissed him. 

“You cannot do that to me,” James said as they broke apart. Anthony laughed, resting his forehead on James’ shoulder. “Honestly. You silly man.”

“But you love me.”

“I do love you.”

It felt good to say. It felt right. He could feel a smile growing on his face. He glanced back into the house. “We should really get back to dinner.”

“God, I hope mum made profiteroles,” Anthony said, took James’ hand, and led him back into the house.

Chapter Text

“Hello, darling. Just a quick call to say I miss you. This is probably the longest we’ve spent away from each other since our first tour, and even then we were on the same base! I’m talking to the CO again tomorrow about organising some leave, and I’ll be home as soon as I can. I love you.”

***

Whilst he’ll never admit it to his husband, James is starting to feel a little bit lonely. Anthony has been gone for almost a month now, and whilst they have been in almost constant contact, it’s not the same as his husband being there with him. He has his job, of course, and he still visits camp on a semi-regular basis, but it’s not the same without Anthony. The cricket season is still a good while away from starting. He feels as though he’s read every single book in their house. 

Quickly, he’s realising that the only people he sees now on a regular basis are his co-workers. He’s not sure how he feels about this. This week has been a slightly chaotic one, with people being in and out with various excuses. As it turns out, Julian has a young daughter, something that was discovered when she called him in the middle of the afternoon using her mother’s phone and proceeded to ask her father a number of questions about when he would be home and what holiday they were going on that year. Pat has left early every day in order to pick up his son Daley from school, as his ex-wife has gone on holiday and left her son with his father. Not wanting to leave Fanny swamped, he has returned each day with Daley, with Alison’s blessing, and left him in the break room to do his homework. 

As eight-year-olds are likely to do, however, Daley does not like staying put. He’s taken to wandering around the office, trapping people in conversation until either Pat realises and takes him back to the break room, or the end of the day comes around. James has been lucky enough that he’s not been trapped yet. 

When he turns around and sees Daley heading towards him, however, he realises that maybe he counted his chickens too soon. 

He’s been messaging Anthony for the last ten minutes. His spreadsheets are starting to hurt his head, and so he’s taken a moment to message his husband. He knows that a response is unlikely, as it is a Thursday and Anthony has a class all afternoon. 

“Hi!” Daley chirps. Despite the fact that James knows that he and his family have been living here for at least two years, Daley still has a distinct Yorkshire accent. 

“Hello, Daley,” he replies. He doesn’t particularly want to get trapped in a conversation with a child. It’s not that he doesn’t like children. He likes his nieces and nephews very much, and he and Anthony often babysit for their respective siblings. However, Daley is an unknown child, and he doesn’t know what Pat would be happy for his child to know.

“You’re the Captain, right?” Daley says. James nods. That makes Daley grin, exposing two missing incisors. “I thought so! I’ve met Kitty and Mary and Julian and Robin, but I thought Robin was a bit weird. Dad says he’s nice, though.”

“Your father thinks that everyone is nice,” James says without thinking. 

Instantly he wants to kick himself. Daley will no doubt parrot this back to Pat, who may take it well but equally may be dreadfully offended. This is why he lets Anthony do the talking. He glances down at his phone. Anthony has still not read any of his messages. 

“Who’s Anthony?” Daley asks. Without James realising, he has come over and is peering at his phone screen. James hurriedly locks his phone, putting it face-down on his desk. 

“He’s my husband,” he says. 

“Dad said he’s in the army.”

“He is. Has your father talked about him?”

“Not much. Have you got any snacks?”

“No.” James shakes himself, glancing between his phone and Daley. 

“Mary had snacks. They were really good.”

“What has your father said about Anthony?” James asks. He turns fully away from his desk, focusing all of his attention on Daley. The young boy shrugs and, as all conscientious eight-year-olds do, begins to pick his nose. 

“You used to be in the army too, right? That’s why they call you the Captain.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Why did you leave?”

“That’s private.”

“Okay. Is Anthony a Captain too? Are you Captain and Captain?”

“No. Anthony is a Major.”

“Woah, that’s cool!” Daley exclaims. His eyes are shining with curiosity. “Did you like being in the army?”

“I liked it very much,” James replies. It’s true, really. He loved the army, still loves it, actually, and knows for a fact that he would still be there if it weren’t for factors beyond his control. Daley frowns then.

“Why aren’t you still in the army, then?”

“I already said. It’s private.”

“Did you meet Anthony in the army?” Daley asks, the question seemingly forgotten as quickly as it has been asked. James nods. “Did you ever work together?”

“We did,” James tells him. “It’s how we met.”

“Do you think you’ll be together forever?”

That is a large question for an eight-year-old. James frowns a little at him. Daley’s smile has dimmed somewhat and he’s looking at the floor, fussing with the frayed cuff of his school jumper. 

“Why do you ask that?” he says gently. Daley shrugs then, refusing to look at him. James glances around the office, wondering if he should fetch the boy’s father, but Pat is nowhere to be seen. “Daley?”

“Mums and dads are supposed to be together forever,” Daley murmurs. He’s sniffling, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “But my mum and dad aren’t. My mum lives with Morris, and my dad lives on his own.”

“Does that upset you?” James says. There’s a moment and then Daley nods. He shuffles forward a little more and gestures for James to come closer. He does so. 

“I miss my dad a lot,” he whispers to James. 

“Have you told your father this?” James asks as he pulls away. Daley shakes his head. 

“Dad’s sad a lot,” he says. “He says he’s not, but I know he is. I don’t want to make him more sad.”

“Daley,” James starts, and then pauses. What does he say to this young boy? He wracks his brain, chewing the inside of his cheek. Daley is watching him expectantly. “It’s important that you tell your father how you’re feeling. If you don’t tell him, then you’re going to keep being sad, and your father won’t want that.”

“But what if it makes him sad?” Daley asks. It’s a tough question, James knows that. 

“It might make him sad,” he tells him. “But he would be more sad if he knew you were upset and didn’t tell him.”

“Do you tell Anthony when you’re sad?” Daley says. His voice is small again. 

“I do.”

“Does it make you feel better?”

“Yes, it does. Anthony’s very good at that.”

“My dad’s good at that too.” 

Much to James’ relief, Daley is smiling again. He launches forward, tackling James into a hug. James freezes, but does not push the small boy away. After a few moments, Daley pulls away. “I’m gonna go see if Mary has snacks. Bye, Captain!”

And off he runs towards Mary’s desk. James watches him go, chuckling a little and shaking his head. He’s about to turn back to his desk, re-open his spreadsheets and maybe check his phone to see if Anthony has seen any of his messages, when Pat steps into his eyeline. God, how long has he been there? Has he heard the entire conversation?

“Patrick,” he stammers out. “I-I-I hope I didn’t…”

“Thank you,” Pat says. When James pauses in his panic to actually look at Pat, he realises that he doesn’t look angry. No, if anything, he looks grateful. 

“I was looking for you,” he says. 

“I know,” Pat replies. He chuckles sadly, looking over to his son, who is now badgering Kitty for one of the chocolates she hides in her second desk drawer, having apparently come up empty with Mary. “I guess kids pick up on more than you think. You gave him some really good advice, though.”

“I did?” James asks, bewildered. Pat nods. 

“Couldn’t have said anything better to him myself.” He looks at his son again, then back to James. “Sorry about all the questions about Anthony, by the way. I know you prefer to keep him private.”

“It’s absolutely fine,” James says. “He’s a child. Children will ask questions.”

“Don’t tell me you have secret kids, now!”

James raises an eyebrow as Pat bursts out laughing. “I’m messing, I’m messing! Cheers, mate.”

James watches as Pat goes over and pulls Daley away, telling him that yes, if he just goes back to the break room then they can have a McDonald’s for dinner that night. He shakes his head, laughs, and turns back to his spreadsheets. 

***

“Hi, love.”

“Good evening, Anthony.”

“Before you ask, no, the CO still hasn’t got back to me about leave. I even went and asked him in-person today.”

“How did that go?”

“He told me to get out of his office and leave him alone.”

“Ah.”

“I really want to come home. Honestly, I’m this close to just getting in the car and driving down.”

“Don’t go getting yourself into trouble, now.”

“It’s been nearly a month. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Seeing you would be worth the disciplinary.”

“Darling, if my instinct is right, then your CO will give you the harshest punishment possible. As much as I want you here, it’s not worth it.”

“Ugh, stop being sensible. Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“I’ve agreed to help out with an open day on-base on Saturday.”

“Really? Did you get blackmailed into it?”

“Of course not!”

“What did they offer you, then?”

“Extra time on the firing range.”

“There we are. God, I feel sorry for John and Kerry in the guardroom.”

“Oh, no, it’s just in the visitor’s car park. I’m only there to keep an eye on the tank they’re bringing out for it as you’re not there.”

“You’re going to end up in some random family’s photo album, you do know that?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry love, you know I’m only teasing. I’m stuck supervising weekend guard changes.”

“Why on earth are you doing that?”

“Because the CO hates me. I’ve got a couple of hours free on Sunday if you want to facetime?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry. I promised my sister I’d babysit for her.”

“Let me know when you get home, yeah? I might be able to sneak off for a quick call.”

“What did I say about you not getting yourself into trouble?”

“It’s fine. So I’ll speak to you on Sunday?”

“You will. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

***

MOD Lyneham, 2004

James and Anthony were both staring at letters. 

They were standing on either side of their shared room. Technically, shared rooms were supposed to be for married couples only, but Anthony had pointed out to the higher-ups that that was rather beside the point for the two of them, given that they couldn’t legally get married. Sensing that Anthony could possibly cause trouble for them, and listening to James’ reasoning that it would save them money anyway given that they were already alternating between their rooms each night, they had given them a room. 

The letters had come that morning. They had been tempted to leave them, but the large stamp warning them that the letters were urgent quickly got the better of them. 

It was deployment papers. Camp Bastion, Afghanistan. James was staring at the words so intensely that they may as well have been burned into his retinas. There was a date, too, for around a month later. At least there was time to prepare, he thought vaguely. He’d have to phone his sister, and his mother. That was going to be a long phone call. 

“I’m leaving,” Anthony said faintly. 

“What?” James said, turning to look at Anthony. The other man was as white as a sheet, clutching the letter so tight that the paper was crushing in his grip. 

“Tonight,” Anthony continued. He was still staring at the letter. “I’m to report in tomorrow morning for the flight out to Afghanistan.”

“What?” James repeated. Crossing the room, he peered over Anthony’s shoulder. Sure enough, there it was, tomorrow’s date and 0900 right next to it. Eyes wide, he looked back to Anthony. Tomorrow? That was so soon. 

“They’re desperate for mechanics, apparently,” Anthony said. Finally he looked up from the letter, looking at James. “Are you…?”

“Next month,” James murmured. 

“We’ll be on the same base. That’s good,” Anthony said. He was trying to smile, but it wasn’t happening. James frowned at him. “I need to, uh… I need to call my parents. Let them know.”

Before James had a chance to say anything else, Anthony had grabbed his phone and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. 

James sat down heavily on the bed, the letter still in his hands. They’d both known that this was coming for a while. It had been on the cards ever since they were first stationed here at Lyneham. Really, they’d been almost lucky to make it two years without being deployed. 

The thing was, neither of them had counted on meeting each other. They had spent the last two years together. Now, they were looking at a month apart, possibly longer if they weren’t going to be working together during deployment. Six months apart… 

James glanced at the bathroom door. He couldn’t hear Anthony talking, which meant that he either wasn’t or he was sitting in the shower. Neither of these were very good. Briefly, he wondered whether he should go and knock on the door, but decided against it in case he was actually on the phone. 

At least it was the same base. For now, he was clutching on to that fact. If they were going to be in an active warzone, at least they could be there together. 

He glanced at the bathroom door again. How was Anthony? Whilst he had a month to wrap his head around the deployment, Anthony was leaving tonight. It really did seem so soon now that he thought about it more. What would he be doing? Would he be safe? He had to be scared, surely? He himself was scared. He’d been deployed before, but there had been nothing on this scale. 

Looking at the clock, he realised that he had only ten minutes until he had to start work. He forced himself to stand up from the bed, walking over to the bathroom door and knocking gently. There was no response.

“Anthony?” he called, his voice soft. Once again, no reply. “I have to go. I’ll see you later?”

“Yep,” was the distracted reply. 

James barely saw Anthony for the rest of the day. They caught each other for ten minutes at lunch, but Anthony was just passing through, grabbing a quick something to eat before he went back upstairs to keep packing. He hadn’t said much, simply confirming that he was leaving at six that night. 

When James slipped back into their room at 1730, there was a sense of trepidation filling him. The room looked terribly bare without all of Anthony’s bits and bobs all over the place. There were two holdalls, clearly full to bursting, sitting on the bed. Anthony himself was standing on the other side of the room, facing the window and in the middle of a conversation on the phone. 

“Yes, I know, mum,” he was saying as James shut the door behind him. “Look, I’ve got to leave soon. I’ll call you as soon as I can, alright?” As he sighed, he turned and noticed that James had come into the room. “I really have to go, mum. I love you too.”

Hanging up, he paused for a moment, staring at the phone before he pocketed it. 

“How is she?” James asked. Anthony shrugged a little.

“Worried,” he said. “She’s been watching stuff on the news all day.”

“Ah. Of course.”

Neither of them knew what to say. Anthony was staring at the floor, gently scuffing the carpet with his newly polished boots, whilst James was suddenly fascinated by a cobweb in the far corner of the room. 

“It’s only a month,” Anthony murmured as the silence stretched out and threatened to overtake the room. James made a noise and nodded. “An-and I’ll mostly be on camp anyway, right?”

“Yes, yes,” James replied, looking down at him. “You’ll be absolutely fine.”

They both glanced at the clock. 

“I-I should probably go,” Anthony said. He took a couple of faltering steps forward before stopping. “You know, the coach and everything.”

“Of course,” James said quickly. He didn’t move from where he was standing in front of the door. 

There was a moment. Anthony took a deep, shuddering breath, looking up to the ceiling and then back down again. Reaching over, he grabbed the holdalls. James took a step forward. “Well… I suppose I shall see you in a month,” he said. 

The holdalls dropped to the floor. Unsure what was happening, James went to step forward, but before he had a chance, Anthony had tackled him in a hug. 

“I’ll miss you,” he whispered. James gently wrapped his arms around his partner. 

“I shall miss you too, Anthony. More than you know.”

“It’ll be okay, right?”

James pulled back a little so that he could see Anthony’s face. It was moments like this that he felt their difference so fiercely. Anthony would have likely never been deployed to an active warzone before. Reaching up, he brushed his thumb across Anthony’s cheek. 

“The moment I get there, you will be the most protected person on-base,” he said. 

“And before that?”

“You are more than capable. You will be fine, better than fine, even.” 

Anthony gave him a watery, wobbly smile. 

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” James replied. He looked up at the clock. “Anthony, dearest…”

“Five more minutes?” Anthony said, and buried his face in the crook of James’ neck.

Chapter Text

“Happy anniversary! I know it’s midnight, but I had to call you right away. I love you so much, James. I can’t believe it’s been ten years since we got engaged! Just a short one to tell you I love you. I’ll call you in the morning.” 

***

It’s their anniversary.

James knows he should be upset that Anthony isn’t here to celebrate, but he’s too happy to care. Anthony’s voicemail had been waiting for him when he’d woken up, and they’d had a quick phone call before they both had to leave for work. They’ve agreed to celebrate properly when Anthony gets home, something that works in James’ favour as it gives him a little more time to decide on a present. 

Ten years. It feels like two minutes since they got engaged, and yet it’s been ten years. They’ve always celebrated their engagement anniversary, and didn’t see much reason to switch once they actually got married. Ten years, though… There is something about the number ten. Here’s to another ten years, Anthony had said to him on their call. 

When he gets to work, the good mood is still there. He greets everyone as he passes them, and even offers to make tea for the office. That earns him a few strange looks, but it doesn’t affect his mood. Nothing is ever able to bring him down on their anniversary. 

“You seem happy today,” Pat says when they run into each other in the kitchen at around eleven that morning. Pat is searching the cupboard for biscuits, whilst James is filling up the kettle. James hums a little in response. Yes, he is happy, he supposes. Whilst he does miss Anthony, of course he does, he is happy because they are married, because he is lucky enough to have met him. “Get up to anything nice last night?”

“Nothing too interesting,” James replies. 

“Got any plans for tonight?”

“Well, it is Anthony and I’s ten-year anniversary.”

James is starting to wonder whether the office is bugged so that whenever he mentions Anthony’s name, everybody is alerted and instantly congregates to wherever he is. When he turns around from putting the kettle on to boil they are all standing at the edge of the kitchen, smiling widely at him. He suppresses a groan. No, no, he will not let this ruin his mood. It’s their anniversary. 

“Congrats!” Alison says. “I love anniversaries. Mike and I always have a weekend away for ours. Are you guys doing anything?”

“Anthony’s away,” he replies. 

The others all frown at him. 

“Away?” Robin repeats. 

“Yes. He’s away on assignment for another five months.”

“Where’s he gone?” Julian asks. James gives him a half-hearted glare.

“None of your business.”

“How long have you two been married, then?” Pat asks. 

“Five years,” he says. Pat frowns then.

“I thought you said it was your ten-year anniversary?”

The group are exchanging looks. James glances between them, but nothing is jumping out at him. Julian, Thomas and Robin are looking at each other, Mary is saying something to Kitty that he can’t quite hear, whilst Fanny, Alison and Pat appear to be having a conversation entirely based on glances, something which James isn’t about to even begin to try and decipher. 

“It is,” he tells them. 

“And you said you’ve been together for seventeen years,” Fanny says. 

“I’ve done some dodgy arithmetic in my time, but even I can’t explain that one,” Julian adds. James sighs frustratedly.

“We have been together for seventeen years,” he says. He’s trying to stay patient, he really is, but the annoyance is beginning to creep into his voice. “And yes, we have been married for five years. It wasn’t legal to be married before that.” Here, he directs a glare at a suddenly guilty-looking Julian. Pat’s frowning again, messing with his glasses.

“So what’s the anniversary?” Alison asks.

“It’s the anniversary of our engagement.”

There’s more looks, primarily between Julian and Robin this time. Pat is fussing so much with his glasses that James is surprised they aren’t breaking. 

“Strange thing to bes celebrating,” Mary mutters. 

“But why the anniversary of your engagement?” Pat asks. “Why not your wedding anniversary, or the anniversary of your first date?”

“I don’t know,” James says somewhat crossly. The kettle screeches and he turns to make his cup of tea. He can tell that they’re all still there, but he’s just glad that he doesn’t have to look at and figure out the multitude of looks and glances anymore. 

“Well, er… happy anniversary,” Julian offers. He does not sound sincere, but James is entirely done with this conversation and doesn’t reply. Instead he focuses on making tea. 

He’s still happy, though. Nothing can bring him down on their anniversary. 

***

“Happy anniversary, Anthony.”

“Hello, love! Happy anniversary. Ten years, eh?”

“And they said it would never last.”

“Oh hush.”

“Do you think it’s strange that we celebrate the date of our engagement rather than our actual wedding date?”

“Not really. Let’s be honest, the day we got engaged was slightly more eventful than our wedding day.”

“Slightly more?”

“Okay, a lot more eventful. Why d’you ask?”

“I mentioned to the office that it’s our anniversary today, and they assumed that it was our wedding anniversary. When I told them no, it’s the day we got engaged, they all got a bit… shifty.”

“Shifty?”

“Patrick fusses with his glasses in a certain way when he wants to say something but won’t. Julian and Robin kept looking at each other. Mary simply told me to my face that she thought it was strange.”

“I really wouldn’t worry about it, love. I’m sorry we can’t do anything this year.”

“Nonsense. It’s work.”

“It’s always bloody work.”

“May I remind you that if it wasn’t for work, we would never have met? Nor would we have an anniversary to celebrate in the first place.”

“Good point. Maybe I should write the British Army a thank-you note.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Stop making me laugh. People are looking at me like I’m insane.”

“What are you going to do tonight?”

“Oh, you know. Eat whatever they’re offering at the mess. Might catch up on some of the books I started reading when I got here. Maybe go for a run?”

“You’re going to play Call of Duty, aren’t you?”

“This is why I married you. What are you going to do?”

“There’s a documentary about the invasion of Sicily on the History Channel at eight. I might watch that.”

“I honestly think you might know more about the invasion of Sicily than anyone else in the world.”

“It’s an incredibly interesting invasion, Anthony. I mean, the logistics alone…”

“Okay, okay, I love you very much, but I do not have forty-five minutes right now. You can call me tomorrow and tell me all about the documentary, alright?”

“Very well.”

“Sorry I can’t stay on longer tonight. The mess is closing early for a do, and there aren’t a lot of takeaway options around here.”

“Are you not going?”

“What, to the do? No. Honestly, I need a night away from this lot. And it’ll just make me sad that I’m not with you.”

“And you say I’m the soppy one. Shall I call you tomorrow?”

“Please. Is after twelve alright? We both know there’s a good chance I’m going to end up playing until gone midnight.”

“Yes, that’s fine. I love you.”

“I love you too. Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary.”

***

Camp Bastion, 2009

Logically, James knew that they were in the middle of a warzone. Of course they were, they wouldn’t be there on tour otherwise. This tour had been quiet so far, though. Well, not quiet. As quiet as you can get in a warzone.

Today was anything but quiet.

Given that it was their day off, he and Anthony had chosen to sleep in. The bunks weren’t really made for two, but they had made it work over the previous four tours. Technically they weren’t really supposed to share bunks, but nobody had dared to say anything to them yet. 

The thing that woke them up was a blaring alarm. It was the same alarm that they heard every Tuesday morning, only ever for ten seconds at a time. This one lasted much longer than ten seconds. James and Anthony both sat bolt upright. 

“Is that…” Anthony said, turning to look at his partner. James tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes, his arms still around Anthony’s waist. 

“No, it can’t be,” he said. “Someone probably just sat on the control panel.”

They paused, looking towards the corridor. A moment later, people began to rush past. The alarm was still blaring. A blast sounded from outside.

“Shit,” Anthony exclaimed, and jumped out of bed. 

Within an hour, all hell had broken loose. As it turned out, the alarm was not sounding because somebody had sat on a panel. It was also the attack alarm. Overnight, rebels had surrounded the base, and had launched their attack whilst everybody had been distracted by breakfast being served. The prevailing thought was that they either had inside information from somebody on camp, or they had been watching them for a while. 

James and Anthony were standing at the edge of base alongside their respective second-in-commands and Captain Sallers, who controlled the avionics regiment. It was possibly the quickest they’d ever gotten changed, and they had spent some time assigning tasks to their commands. The shooting had been paused for the last ten minutes, their snipers aimed at the rebels and the rebels aimed at their snipers. 

“Do we send anything out there?” Anthony asked. 

“I’ve got some reconnaissance UAVs heading out soon,” Sallers said. 

“The snipers were serviced just last week,” James said. “I’ve got some units standing by in case we need emergency maintenance.”

“It’s not worth sending any manned vehicles out at the moment,” Sallers added, turning to Anthony. “All it’ll end in is a firefight and damaged vehicles.”

“Good point,” Anthony replied. 

They all looked at each other. It was clear that they were all wondering the same thing: what on earth do we do now? Other units would be handling the supply checks and the manning of the radios. Once the UAVs were dispatched, there wasn’t really much for any of them to do. 

Then came the second blast. 

It was close, just outside the edge of the base. Sand and dust plumed into the air, coming across to cover them. On instinct they all dived to the ground. James wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or flattered when Anthony dived on top of him specifically. 

“What the hell was that!?” Anthony’s second-in-command yelled. 

“Probably a bomb,” James called back as Anthony rolled off of him. “We need to move. We’re too close.”

As if trying to prove his point, gunfire rang out. Grabbing Anthony, James hauled himself from the floor and ran towards the nearest wall of sandbags, diving behind it. 

This was the closest they had been to an active gunfight in two years. The recovery mechanics often came back from jobs with stories of trying to free tanks from ditches whilst under constant enemy fire, and James and Anthony would thank their lucky stars that they didn’t have to do that job. Now, the gunfire was getting closer and closer with each round.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Anthony muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“We’re fine,” James murmured back, despite the fact that he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Another gunshot rang out, this one sounding different to the others. James looked up. “See? That’s our sniper there.”

Another explosion. Dust blossomed again, causing them both to cough and wave at the air in front of them in an attempt to clear it. When it didn’t work, they both pulled the bandanas which they wore almost constantly around their necks over their faces. 

“James,” Anthony said. “Marry me.” 

“What!?” James exclaimed. There was another explosion. Anthony nodded. 

“Marry me, please.”

Gunfire rang out again. Chancing it, James twisted and glanced over the makeshift wall. The dust was overwhelming, but he could just about make out the figures of the infantry heading towards the perimeter wall. He rose up a little more, squinting as he tried to make out which guns they were using, when Anthony reached up and yanked him back down. 

Had Anthony really just asked him to marry him? He stared at his partner. Was this real? Was this just a response to the gunfire? No, they’d been in life-threatening situations before this and Anthony hadn’t proposed. Another round of gunfire, another explosion, more dust. 

“Anthony…” he started, but he couldn’t find the right words. 

“Please, James,” Anthony said. He reached out and grabbed James’ hand. “Just say yes. Say yes and marry me.”

“Yes!” James blurted. It reminded him of that day seven years ago when Anthony had asked him on a date. Anthony was grinning at him, or at least he thought he was. The dust and the bandana were making it difficult to tell. 

“You’ll marry me?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” Somebody was shouting their names. James glanced over the wall again. “But we do need to deal with this first.”

“Right, yeah,” Anthony breathed, as if he’d only just remembered where they were, and started getting up. 

They hardly saw each other for the next few hours. James was being pulled any which way to Sunday, dealing with requests for extra weapons and performing emergency maintenance on weapons which had become clogged by the sand and dust. Anthony, whose dabbling in avionics over the years had given him a number of useful skills, was helping Sallers with the UAVs whilst also being ready to prepare any tanks at a moment’s notice. 

Somewhere around two in the afternoon, the rebels realised that they were outnumbered. As suddenly as they had appeared, they slunk back into the desert. Once they were sure they were gone, a patrol went around the camp. Finally, the attack alarm ceased, the all-clear sounded, and things started to settle down. 

James found himself standing in the middle of camp with his hands clasped behind his back, watching as the rushing began to slow. He was cataloguing the various repairs that would need doing, as there was no doubt that at least some of the sniper rifles would have been damaged by the sand and dust. They would probably have to be done today, which meant that he wasn’t going to get his day off. 

“Babe, hey,” Anthony said, startling him. 

He turned to see that Anthony was standing just behind him. His hands were in his pockets and he was smiling sheepishly at him. 

“Hello,” he said. “Have you got much to do?”

“Not really, honestly. The UAVs are pretty much undamaged and Sallers says he has it under control. What about you?”

“It depends on what condition the snipers are in when they get them down here.”

“Do you have an ETA?”

“They said around an hour, perhaps.”

“Good,” Anthony said. “Can we, er… talk?”

James turned to him. Anthony was looking rather nervous, glancing around at the people walking around near them. In all of the excitement and the drama, James realised that he’d entirely forgotten not only about Anthony’s proposal, but about the fact that he had said yes. Eyes widening, he nodded. 

They headed to a small, sheltered spot not far from the middle of camp. It was somewhere they had frequented before, when they wanted a moment of quiet without anybody else walking close by. Anthony glanced around the corner, making sure nobody was coming near them before leaning against the wall and letting out a deep sigh. 

“You proposed,” James said. Anthony nodded.

“Yeah. I did.”

“And I’m assuming you want to take it back?”

“Woah,” Anthony said, his voice full of concern as he pushed himself off the wall with one booted foot. “Hang on.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you wanted to talk,” James replied. He shifted a little, uncomfortable as he glanced around. They were still alone, which was practically a miracle on camp. “It-it’s fine,” he continued when Anthony stayed quiet. “We were under threat. Everybody says silly things in those situations. And if you want to--”

Anthony stepped forward and kissed him. 

It caught James by surprise, but he wasn’t displeased with the development. Anthony had one arm around his waist, the other on his cheek, and James had to resist the urge to pull him closer in case somebody came walking around the corner. 

“James,” Anthony said after a moment. “I love you very, very much. You know that, right?”

“What, of course I do!” James exclaimed. Anthony grinned then. He let him go, taking a couple of steps backwards. 

“Now, I don’t have a ring,” he said as he lowered himself onto one knee. “I could possibly fashion one out of one of the lugnuts for the tanks, but that’ll take ages.”

“What are you doing?” James murmured, his eyes wide. Anthony gave him a derisive look. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” he said. “I’m asking properly.”

James stared at him, his mouth hanging open slightly. You’re going to get covered in dust, he wanted to say, but he seemed to have entirely lost the power of speech. Anthony was currently fumbling through his pockets for something to hold up in place of a ring, and after a moment found a screw. He held it up to James, raising one eyebrow. “Imagine it’s a ring, alright?”

“Okay,” James managed to squeak out.

“You deserve a proper proposal, not something half-shouted in the middle of a firefight,” Anthony said. “I had planned to do this in a nice restaurant or something, not in the middle of camp, but me and my big mouth.” He smiled and took a moment to look at his partner. James was still staring at him. “I love you. These have been the best seven years of my life. If I’d have known that inviting you out to steal cake in the mess hall would lead to this…” 

Trailing off, he chuckled a little, shaking his head. “I’d do it all over again a million times. I wouldn’t change a thing. So will you, James Arthur Montgomery Hutchins, do me the honour of marrying me?”

“I…” James stammered. Anthony was looking up at him expectantly. The words were all jumbled up, sticking in his throat whenever he tried to speak. After a moment, he gave up with speaking and simply nodded. 

Anthony’s face broke into a smile. Jumping up from the floor, he pulled James forward into a deep kiss. 

“I will get you a ring, I promise,” he said once they broke apart. 

“Don’t be silly,” James managed to say as his brain began to reboot a little. Anthony fixed him with a look. 

“Hey, I want people to know that you’re taken.”

“Very well. If it’ll make you happy.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Anthony said, drawing him in close again. “You’ve just made me happier than you could possibly know."

Chapter Text

“James, I know you’re annoyed at me, but could you please pick up the phone? This whole ignoring me business is just childish. I’ll call you when I’m finished with work later. Can you please answer the call so we can sort all of this out? Thank you. I’ll speak to you later.” 

***

“Alison and Mike are fighting,” are the first words that Pat says to him when he walks into the office. 

To be honest, James isn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. He and Anthony’s phone call the night before had ended in them shouting at each other and James hanging up in a fit of rage. Anthony has tried to call him multiple times since, all of which he has ignored, and there’s a no doubt shitty voicemail waiting for him to open. He’s still pissed off, and he’s been hoping that everybody will leave him alone. 

“Are they?” he says blandly as he walks towards the kitchen, Pat following him like a lost puppy. 

“You just missed the shouting.”

“What a shame.”

Reaching over, he grabs his mug from the cupboard. Pat leans against the cabinet, watching him. 

“It was like something out of Emmerdale,” Pat says. 

“I don’t watch that.”

“Eastenders? Corrie? Hollyoaks?”

“I’ve never even heard of the last one.”

“Well, it was proper soap opera material,” Pat tells him. James shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose, listening to the kettle. He will not lose his temper before ten o’clock in the morning. “You, uh… you okay?”

“Fine,” he replies through gritted teeth. 

“Are you sure? You’re--”

“I said I’m fine. I suggest that you drop it, Patrick.”

Pat, to his credit, does as he is told. He mumbles something that James can’t quite hear, readjusts his glasses and leaves, heading back to his desk. As he goes, he whispers something in passing to Julian. James chooses to ignore that in favour of making his cup of tea. 

“Heard about the fight?”

Julian. The man has his uses, but James does not like him particularly. For one thing, he’s looked up his voting record on defence issues in the early noughties in the House of Commons. Apart from that, he considers the man to be morally bankrupt. He’s a philanderer, often boasting about his sexual prowess to the entire office (something that gives poor old Humphrey rather a lot of paperwork) and flaunts his singular appearance on Strictly (in which he was voted off in Week One and utterly trashed on social media) ten years ago to anyone and everyone who can stand him long enough to listen. 

“I have,” James says as he turns to look at the other man. Julian is leaning where Pat had been moments earlier, a grin on his face and his hands in the pockets of his £600 suit. 

“Proper knock-down, drag-out stuff,” he says. “Reminded me of my time at Cambridge.”

That is another thing. At any given point, Julian just has to remind you that he got a first from Cambridge, you know. Whilst he’s never outwardly said anything--he’s very good at that, Julian, not saying what he really means--James always gets the distinct feeling that Julian judges those of them in the office who do not have degrees. James doesn’t have a degree. He has multiple qualifications which are the equivalent of a degree, but he doesn’t have a fancy piece of paper or thousands of pounds worth of student debt. Then again, Julian doesn’t have the latter either. 

“Right,” he murmurs. 

“I used to box for Cambridge, you know,” Julian continues breezily. James grits his teeth again and decides that he’s having two sugars in his tea, health be damned. “Alison should have let me get in there! I bet you and the missus never fight, do you?”

“Mister,” James reminds him. He also looked up Julian’s voting record on gay marriage, and is still not pleased about what he found. 

“Yeah, right, mister. I bet you’re one of those soppy couples who never fight.”

“It’s none of your business, Fawcett.”

“Oh!” Julian exclaims, and then starts laughing. James can feel the rage from the night before beginning to bubble back up to the surface. He puts the second sugar into his tea with more force than necessary, making it splash over the edge of the mug. “Maybe not, then! What did Anthony do to get put in the doghouse?”

“Leave it,” James tells him. 

“It must’ve been bad if you’re still this annoyed.”

“I said, leave it.” He can feel his fist clenching at his side. He shoves his hand in his pocket. 

“Jesus, what did he do? Did he refuse to fu--”

“Stop!”

He’s going to punch him. It might get him fired, but at this point he will do anything to get Julian to just shut up. He steps forward, reminding himself of what Anthony taught him to do (“make sure your thumb’s on the outside of the fist, love, so you don’t break it”) as he settles into a defensive stance. Julian may have boxed for Cambridge, but he’d been a soldier for thirty years. They’d see who was better at fighting. 

Somebody grabs his arm before he has a chance to do anything. He turns, ready to bark at whoever it is to let him go, but stops when he sees that it is Kitty that has grabbed him. She looks scared, glancing between him and Julian. “Katherine,” he says, surprised.

“Please don’t fight,” she says. Her voice is small. 

“We’re not fighting,” he replies quickly, trying to give her a reassuring smile. He looks away from her for a moment in order to glare at Julian, willing him to back him up. Julian, the arsehole, says nothing and simply slips away from the kitchen. Coward, James thinks. 

“You were shouting at him,” Kitty tells him. He frowns. 

“Was I?”

“We… sort of all heard you, mate,” Pat calls over from the main office. Now the anger has drained, James can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. He mumbles an apology as Kitty nervously lets him go. There’s tea all over the side, and he finds himself scrambling for a tea towel to clean it up as his cheeks burn. How has he allowed himself to get so angry? Julian is infuriating, yes, but he usually finds it easy enough to tune him out and get on with his day. 

It’s the fight with Anthony, it has to be. Usually when they fight, they manage around two hours of not speaking to one another before one of them breaks down and either apologises or starts the fight back up all over again. This fight, however, is the first that they’ve had since Anthony has been away, and it’s been far too easy to simply not answer his calls. It’s not really fair, he knows that. 

“I wouldn’t bes worried,” Mary says to him. Quite from nowhere she has appeared next to Kitty, and has an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “I’ve beens wanting to punch Julian for quite a whiles now.”

“Thank you?” he says after a moment, confused. Mary nods before she leads Kitty away from the kitchen, saying something none of them can hear to her. James looks around the office. They’re all looking at him but not looking at him at the same time, glancing at him when they think he can’t see them. It’s certainly not been the best way to start the morning, he acknowledges that. He should really apologise to Julian.

When he’s re-made his tea, that is. 

***

“Hello, Anthony.”

“Thank you for actually picking up my call this time.”

“Don’t. I can still hang up, you know.”

“Look, I know you’re pissed off…”

“You said you’d be home this weekend. You promised.”

“I can’t help it if the CO cancels my leave at the last minute!”

“You could have said something! You could have pushed harder.”

“I tried! Some guy with a higher rank than me took precedence. His daughter’s friend’s kid’s christening or something that he just found out about.”

“You’ve had this leave booked for weeks.”

“So what? You’d rather I go AWOL?”

“I didn’t--I never said that!”

“I get it, you’re mad. I am too. I really wanted to come home this weekend.”

“If you really wanted to come home, you’d have tried to keep the leave.”

“Don’t start doing that. Don’t blame me for shitty military bureaucracy. I did what I could, but there’s only so much I can argue with the CO.”

“I haven’t seen you for weeks. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, love.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I get it. If this were the other way around, I’d be pissed off too.”

“Could I come up for the weekend, perhaps?”

“As much as I’d love that, something tells me that the CO will make it a nightmare for you to come on base. We’ll lose half the weekend.”

“I could get a hotel."

“Last minute? No, that’ll cost you an arm and a leg. I think we have to admit defeat, love.” 

“You’ll try to come home soon, won’t you?” 

“I’ll do everything I can.”

***

Oxford, 2009

It was strange, being back in England after six months. 

Even though they’d spent the last five years going back and forth between tours and periods of leave, it was still strange. Usually they would go on holiday with some of the lads from their unit, but this time around Anthony’s parents were complaining about having not seen their son for almost a year, and so here they were, holed up in a Travelodge in Oxford city centre. 

James never knew quite what to do with himself after a tour. This one had been particularly bad. Three people in his patrol had been killed, five in Anthony’s. They’d also had to spend six months around Americans, which wasn’t the worst thing about the tour, but it definitely didn’t help the situation. They’d missed Christmas. There had been countless bombs, guns, and mines to wrestle with, untold numbers of vehicles to fix. They’d both been run off their feet, and the three months of leave until their next deployment was welcome. 

Right now, James was staring in the mirror, comparing ties for his outfit. They were due to meet Anthony’s parents and siblings at some fancy gastropub in the city in around an hour, but they’d agreed to go for a quick drink just the two of them in one of Anthony’s favourite bars. 

“It’s just dinner with my family,” Anthony called from the bathroom, where he was messing with his hair. There was a moment, and then he looked around the door. “You don’t need a tie.”

“I know,” James said carefully. The blue tie was discarded on the bed. 

“Leave it, then. Come and help me with my hair, I can’t get it right.”

“I’ll be five minutes.”

“Seriously, you do not need a tie.”

“I’m just trying to look smart, Anthony.”

“What are you trying to say?” Anthony snapped. He came out of the bathroom, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at his partner. James stopped in examining the two remaining ties (the red and the green) in order to look at him. 

“I’m not saying anything,” he said, but he couldn’t help but glance over Anthony’s outfit. Really, jeans and a t-shirt? Of course, Anthony didn’t miss that, and his brow furrowed. 

“You’re saying I’m not dressed up enough, aren’t you?”

“When did I say that?”

“Your face is giving enough away!” 

“Okay, fine, would it really hurt to put on a shirt?”

“It’s my parents, James! They’re not going to care what I’m wearing! Not all of us are uptight.”

“Uptight? I’m uptight?”

“You’re wearing a shirt and tie to a pub, what else am I supposed to think?”

“Perhaps that I want to look nice to see your parents for the first time since we got engaged! Which, may I remind you, you did not tell them about until last week?”

“It’s been a busy six months, James. I barely got to speak to them for longer than an hour a week, as I’m sure you remember.”

“And you couldn’t find five minutes in that hour to mention oh yes, by the way, I got engaged? It’s been nearly four months!” 

“Well I’m very sorry that my first thought when talking to my parents wasn’t about you!”

“I’m not saying--stop twisting my words!” 

“Stop being such an arsehole!” 

“If anyone here is being an arsehole, it’s you!”

“Of course you’d say that! You can’t take accountability for anything.”

“I.. Is this because you forgot to sort out the hotel for tonight?”

“This is what I mean! You were supposed to sort it!”

“No, no. You told me to remind you, which I did, several times, I may add. You’re the one who left it to the last minute, which is why we’re in the worst Travelodge in the entire country!” 

“Only because I thought you might finally get over your weird hangup about us staying with my parents!” 

“Oh, well, I apologise for wanting some private time with my fiance!” 

“Don’t fucking turn it into that. Don’t pretend like you want to have alone time or some other horseshit. You’ve barely spoken to me for two weeks.”

“Because I’ve been busy! Do you remember that case of fifty guns that got delivered to my office, or did I make that up?”

“Don’t start blaming work.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to blame when you’d rather spend time with a tank than with me?”

“Please, as if you wouldn’t rather be in a tank.”

James opened his mouth to shout something else, but nothing came out. He closed his mouth again, clenching his jaw furiously. They were still standing on either side of the room. Anthony had his fists clenched by his side, his jaw set in that determined way it did when he wanted to win an argument. 

Six months spending every day together, and yet not really being together. Sure, they saw each other, they ate together, but it was rare that they’d get more than five minutes where they weren’t dealing with something in their respective commands or responding to some sort of emergency. This is really the first time they’ve been in a room together, just them with no distractions or emergencies or immediate commitments. 

“We can’t…” he started to say, but his voice cracked and he had to stop. He took a deep breath, looking down at the floor. He could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “We can’t do this.” 

“Do you think I want to do this?” Anthony yelled. “Do you think I want to stand here shouting at you? We’re supposed to be having a nice evening out with my fucking parents--”

He cut himself off, turning away and kicking the corner of the door. He was breathing heavily. James stepped back. “Shit,” Anthony muttered. 

“What are we doing?” James whispered. 

“I don’t know,” Anthony said. He had stopped shouting, fists uncurling. He was staring at the wall behind his partner. When he looked back at James, his eyes were swimming with tears. “What do I say to them when they ask about the tour? Because they will ask. How do I tell them that we have to go to a funeral next week for a lad that was barely twenty-four? How do I tell them that we’ve spent six months watching people get blown up and shot at? How do I tell them that the whole reason we’re engaged is because we thought we were going to die, and I couldn’t die without telling you I wanted to marry you?”

“Is that why you didn’t tell them about the engagement?” James asked, stepping forward. Anthony sucked in a deep breath, looking to the ceiling. He nodded. 

“I couldn’t tell them that,” he said. “They’d worry.”

“How about this?” James said. “We avoid talking about the tour. If they ask, we just tell them about the curry.”

“Wait, the curry that gave every single person in the unit food poisoning?”

“Yes. That’ll stop your sister asking, at least.”

“Hopefully she’s pregnant again and they’ll spend the evening talking about that.”

They both laughed. It was uneasy, the tension still remaining between them but beginning to dissipate a little.

“I’m sorry,” James said, glancing at the floor and then back up again. 

“I’m sorry too,” Anthony mumbled after a moment. “This tour has just been…” Shaking his head, he let out a mirthless laugh. 

“I know,” James replied. He glanced at the door frame, where he was sure he could see a small dent and chip in the paintwork from Anthony’s shoes. “Is your foot okay?”

“God, what was I thinking?” Anthony exclaimed as he squatted down to examine the mark. He brushed his fingers across it. “Do you think we’ll get charged for that?”

“You did hear me call it the worst Travelodge in the country, didn’t you?” James asked, arching an eyebrow. Anthony rolled his eyes. 

“Seriously, though,” he said as he stood up again. “I’m not trying to start an argument again, but why do you hate staying with my parents so much?”

“I don’t hate it,” James replied. “I like your parents very much.” Anthony raised his eyebrows. “I like your mother very much,” he amended. “But we don’t get much time just… us anymore. We’re always on tour, or away with people from the unit, or with our families. And I miss that. I miss you.”

Anthony smiled at him then. Stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around James’ waist, pulling him closer. 

“You’re a soppy bugger, aren’t you?” he murmured. 

“Shush. You’re just as bad.”

James let his head rest on Anthony's shoulder. His t-shirt was soft and well-worn. It smelled like the laundry detergent they had bought just before going on tour, not that stale, nothing scent that the stuff on base in Afghanistan had. He could feel Anthony’s five o’clock shadow against his forehead, and smell his cologne. It made a marked difference from the smell of standard-issue deodorant and punishing heat that he’d gotten used to over the past six months. “I do love you, you know,” he murmured into Anthony’s neck. Anthony’s arms tightened a little around his waist. “Very much.”

“I love you too,” Anthony replied. 

They stood there for another few minutes, neither of them wanting to move. The room was quiet, the only sounds being the traffic from outside and their synchronised breathing. It was, James thought, exactly what they needed. No bombs, no guns, nobody shouting at them to get this or do that. They’d been on the go for so long… maybe it was finally time to stop and take a moment. 

“I propose a compromise,” James said when they finally separated almost five minutes later. Intrigued, Anthony nodded. “I will change my shirt to something more casual.”

“Music to my ears,” Anthony joked, and earned himself a half-hearted glare. 

“However, we get tomorrow on our own.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“No family. No friends. In fact, tomorrow I do not want to see anybody other than you and the poor teenager on minimum wage who brings us room service.”

“Does this hotel even do room service?”

“Not the point. Now, do you agree?”

Anthony thought it over for a moment. Then he came over and began to unbutton James’ shirt. 

“Deal. Put that polo shirt my mum bought you for Christmas, and I promise you that you are the only person I see tomorrow.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” James said, but he was already reaching for the other shirt.

Chapter Text

“Babe, I know you’re at work, but you need to leave and hide in the bathroom or something and answer your damn phone, because I am standing in front of one of the best tanks I have ever seen. Seriously, you have got to see this. I’m just going to keep calling until you pick up, you know.”

***

It’s mid-morning, and James’ phone keeps buzzing. 

He’s supposed to be working, really. The thing is, he is ahead on all of his tasks, and Alison is stuck on a lengthy online meeting until after lunch so he cannot ask her for more work. He’d meant to catch up on the model tank blog he followed for five minutes.

That was half an hour ago, and he’s still on the website. 

The blog post is about the exclusive line of First World War tanks released the year before for the one-hundred year anniversary of the end of the war. James has almost all of them, but there’s a couple that he’s missing. The blog post is informing him of the history of each tank, previous models released, and where the best place to purchase each model is. He knows most of this information, of course, but it’s still helpful to refresh his memory. If he’s being honest, his sense of time has completely gone, the buzzing of his phone and the chatter of the office all muted in his focus on the computer screen and the blog post. 

He should, he vaguely thinks as he opens another tab and begins to search for the website the blog recommends for finding rare models, look at his phone. It’s likely just emails. Should he have a spreadsheet open on his computer? No, everybody is busy with their own work, it’s unlikely that they’ll talk to him. The rare model website is open now, but the prices are extortionate. He loves his models, but he’s never spent this much on a single one. Maybe eBay will have what he wants? There’s a risk of there being missing pieces if he buys second-hand, but if he sticks to his usual sellers, then--

“You bes working hard or you bes hardly working?”

“Bally hell!” he shouts, turning around to see Mary standing less than a foot away from him. She’s grinning at him, her hair as flyaway as ever. She’s holding one of her hand-weaved baskets, the ones that she always gives people in the office when it is their birthday, filled with what looks like scones. James’ mouth starts watering. Mary’s baking is renowned throughout the office. “Are those scones?”

“Maybe,” she replies. “Maybes not.”

Mary is never very subtle. She sometimes speaks in riddles or metaphors, but she is generally blunt and tells you what she wants. It’s what makes her so effective in customer service. Clearly, he is going to have to answer whatever question she has before he gets a scone. 

“Go on, then, if you must,” he says tiredly. 

“Oh, is it time for our question?” Thomas exclaims. He pushes himself away from his desk and rolls over to them on his office chair. 

“You not asking!” Robin shouts, rushing over from where he has been shaking the vending machine in an attempt to free a trapped Snickers bar. “You ask shit questions! Me ask good one.”

“It’s I ask, Robin, I,” Thomas tells him. 

“Hey, me speak good!”

“It’s my turn to ask a question!” Kitty complains as she comes bounding forward to join them.

“Actually, I think it’s mine,” Julian announces. Thomas gasps, seemingly offended. 

“Faradiddle, sir, you asked last week!” 

“Actually, Thomas, as I think you’ll find--”

“Stop!” James shouts.

They all fall silent. During this argument, they have been inching closer to James, and he’s had enough. He stands up, shooing them all away. “Thank you,” he says. Turning to Mary, he smiles at her. “Mary. What would you like to ask me?”

“Oh, nothings much,” she mumbles with a small shrug. “I was just wonderings if Anthony likes your tanks.”

“Anthony likes modern tanks,” he replies. The rest of the group are slinking forward again, but they are staying silent. Robin reaches forward and tries to swipe a scone from Mary’s basket, but she bats his hand away. “He primarily works with them. He doesn’t have the patience for the models, though.”

“Do you have a collection?” Kitty asks. 

“Of model tanks?” She nods. “Yes. Mostly from the World Wars.”

“Oh, that’s nice!” Kitty replies. “I collect Build-a-Bears.”

“I have an extensive collection of antique poetry,” Thomas says. 

This, of course, begins a long conversation about the various collections of each person in the office. Pat, who has now wandered over, collects Scouting badges and fridge magnets from places he has visited. Julian collects multiple things, including expensive watches, which does not surprise James at all. Humphrey, who pokes his head around the door to chastise Julian when he begins to go on about his collection of vintage Playboys, is discovered to collect French literature on account of his wife. Fanny collects taxidermy animals, specifically Gerrards, something which makes everyone glance at each other in slight terror. Robin collects chess sets and telescopes, making everyone quietly agree that Robin leads a strange and mysterious life outside of the office. 

Mary, who has stayed out of the conversation, smiles at him when he starts trying to step away from the increasing volume of the group. Reaching into her basket, she takes a scone and presses it into his hand.

“They be raspberry and white chocolate,” she says. “Your Anthony seems nice. Likes my Annie.”

James thanks her, placing the scone onto his desk. It’s then that he realises that his phone is still buzzing. Turning the screen on, he notices that there are a number of miscalls from Anthony. For a moment he panics, worrying that something has gone horribly wrong, but a quick check of the text messages he has sent reveals that no, nothing is wrong. He does need to call him, though, and he is due for his break. 

Leaving the rest of the group to argue about whether pebbles from your local woodland counts as a collection (Robin is arguing that yes, of course it does because he has one), he slips out of the office and starts to head out towards his car. 

***

“Hi, love. Did you see the photo I sent you?”

“It’s amazing.”

“I know! A Churchill Crocodile. You have a model of that one, right?”

“Of course I do. Is it in full working order?”

“Oh my God, did I not send you the video? Babe, they let me test out the flamethrower!”

“You didn’t burn down anything important, did you?”

“No, we’re out on the shooting range with it anyway. Where are you calling me from?”

“I’m in the car.”

“Why are you sitting in the car?”

“Everybody in the office was being nosy. I thought this might be better than hiding in the bathroom on the top floor. Anyway, where did you even get it from? There’s not many still in working order.”

“Well, you know how there’s two privately owned ones over here?”

“Yes, of course.”

“The guy who owns the one that runs brought it down for us to look at. It was supposed to be for the recruits, really, but all of us have sort of taken over the demonstration.”

“I swear, if it wasn’t a four hour drive…”

“I know. I only found out this morning, otherwise I’d have told you so you could’ve come up and seen it in person.”

“You have taken photos, haven’t you?”

“Literally hundreds. I’ll send them all to you later.”

“I love you, you know.”

“I do know. Are you going to print any of the photos out?”

“I’m not sure. Technically, the rules were that I had to see the tank in-person before the photograph got to go with the model.”

“We can go see the one in Portsmouth when I get back. However, I do have a photo of the flamethrower in action.”

“Maybe I could put it up. As an IOU.”

“You’re going to need more space in that room soon!”

“I’m sorry, darling, I have to go. My break’s almost up.”

“Shit, sorry. I got caught up. Are you still going to call me later?”

“Of course. You have to tell me everything.”

“I will! Alright, I love you. Get back to work!”

“I love you too. I’ll speak to you tonight.”

***

Oxford, 2012

Nothing was going right today. 

They’d been home from their latest tour for a month now. Following a minor win on the lottery, Anthony’s parents had embarked on an around-the-world cruise, and so had asked them to house-sit. Given that the cruise lined up with their leave following their latest tour, they had taken them up on the offer. Thus, they had spent the last month sleeping in Anthony’s childhood bedroom.

When they’d arrived, Anthony had insisted on pulling all of their things out of storage. Personally, James didn’t see the point of it. They’d only have to pack it all away in three months anyway. In the end, Anthony had won, and now all of their things were in and out of boxes around Anthony’s parents’ house. 

The only good thing, in James’ opinion, that had come out of getting everything out of storage was the fact that he once again had access to his model collection. He’d started collecting model tanks when he was fourteen, and had never really stopped. His collection specialised in tanks from the Second World War, although he sometimes dabbled in the First World War. He was immensely proud of all of them. The collection had spent the last eight years in and out of storage, but he’d never really had somewhere to put them. Well, until now.

As it turned out, Anthony’s father was an avid model train collector. When Anthony had moved out, his father had converted their loft into a specialised model room. Usually, the room had a full model train set-up, complete with stations, hills and a miniature town. However, all of the models had been packed away, with Mr Havers saying that he didn’t want them to get dusty whilst he and his wife were on their cruise. That meant that there was a large space sitting empty. After a week of attempting to arrange them on the dining room table, James had admitted defeat and carried all of his tanks upstairs to the loft. 

The tanks were not the reason that nothing was going right. The day itself had started off badly. At eight in the morning, he and Anthony had been fast asleep. It was nice to not be forced awake by an alarm for once. However, their sleep had been broken by a loud bang. 

“What the fuck?” Anthony muttered as he sat up. James was frozen in place, staring up at the ceiling. They were home, weren’t they? He wasn’t going to blink and be staring up at a grey ceiling, listening to people shouting about insurgents and rebels and gunfights, was he? He squinted at the ceiling. He could just about make out the outline of one of the glow-in-the-dark stars that Anthony had had stuck on his ceiling as a child. 

Another bang rang through the room. There was a moment, and then the drilling began. 

“Really?” James murmured.

“For fuck’s sake,” Anthony groaned, flopping back down onto the mattress. The drilling was not stopping, and was being accompanied by more banging. “DIY? At this time in the morning?” 

“And on a Sunday,” James agreed. 

The morning did not improve after this. After thirty minutes of lying in bed listening to the neighbours make a series of crashes, bangs and wallops, they admitted defeat and began their morning. James had been planning to have boiled eggs and toast, but when they opened the fridge, there were no eggs left. Whilst it wasn’t the end of the world to simply have toast for breakfast, it did rather throw off his plan for the day. Then, the documentary he had been planning to watch was not the episode he had been expecting. The DIY did not stop. If anything, it got worse. The banging was increasing in frequency throughout the morning. By midday, it was practically constant, and James had had enough.

Anthony had disappeared in order to go for a shower, leaving him alone in the living room. He’d turned the television off twenty minutes ago, frustrated by both the lack of interesting documentaries to watch and the inability to hear the damn thing over the construction noise from next door. Not only that, but Anthony was currently singing in the shower. For all of his many talents, Anthony could not sing for the life of him. His fondness for Queen and ABBA did not help this situation. 

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Find, me, somebody to love!”

Crash! Crash! Crash!

“Can anybody find me-e-e-e-e-e…”

Wallop! Wallop! Wallop!

“Somebody to-o-o-o-o-o…”

James stood up from the sofa, clamping his hands over his ears. The sounds, the noises… it was too much. It was as if he could feel each noise pulsing through his body, starting down at his feet and travelling up to his head, the pressure building through him as they did so. His skin was crawling, his clothes too tight and too loose at the same time. 

This was too much. He looked around the room. Would anywhere here be quiet? He tried moving around the room, but every time he took his hands from his ears, the noise flooded back in and he was forced to cover them again. Nowhere in the lower level of the house would be quiet. If that morning was anything to go by, then Anthony’s bedroom would be a no-go area as well. 

The loft popped into his mind. 

He climbed the stairs as fast as he could. He thought about stopping, banging on the bathroom door and telling Anthony to stop singing, but that would require taking his hands from his ears for longer than necessary. He passed the bathroom. The hatch for the loft was just outside of Anthony’s bedroom. He stopped for a moment, taking one, two, three deep breaths before reaching up and yanking the hatch and attached ladder down. He scrambled up the ladder into the loft, pulling it up behind him and closing the hatch.

For a few moments he sat on the floor of the dark loft, his hands still over his ears. Up here, the noises were more muffled. When he gingerly took his hands away from his ears, he found that the noises were almost inaudible. He let out a sigh of relief. Reaching up, he pulled the light on. The room was flooded with a soft orange glow, illuminating the large table that took up most of the room. 

When he tried to stand, he found that his legs were shaky. He settled for shuffling forward on his knees towards the table. His tanks were set out in neat rows, organised by date of commission. Resting his elbows on the edge of the table, he reached forward and brushed his fingers over the closest one, a Mark III from the First World War. 

Tanks were one of his longest-standing interests, next to guns of course. He’d found them fascinating as a small child, and the fascination had only grown as he had. The model collection had begun so that he could better understand how tanks had developed throughout the years. Over time, it had become his pride and joy. 

The model was smooth under his fingers. He stared at it. His skin wasn’t crawling quite so much anymore. His clothes were beginning to feel as though they were the right size again. The pressure in his body was coming down.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t cope with loud noises, he always reasoned. Loud noises were part and parcel of being in the army. The noises of guns had never bothered him much. Nor did the roar of a tank engine. These noises were expected. However, all this crashing and banging on a Sunday morning in a quiet, leafy suburb in Oxford was not expected, and that was why it bothered him. He and Anthony had just spent six months being forced to listen to lots of loud noises, which was fine, of course, but part of what he enjoyed about the three months of leave was the fact that it was three months of quiet. 

He’d tried to explain it to Anthony a few times, usually when his fiance insisted on blasting his music from the speaker he always hauled out when they got home, but he’d never quite been able to find the words to describe the feeling. Eventually, after an incident where James had threatened to throw the speaker out of the window and then locked himself in the bathroom, his hands over his ears, Anthony had gotten the message and now used headphones when he wanted to listen to particularly loud music. It wasn’t that James was about to stop Anthony singing in the shower, either, but when layered with the DIY monstrosity from next door…

He sighed, focusing on the feeling of the model tank. Vaguely, he was aware of the sound of the shower turning off downstairs. That meant Anthony was going to come looking for him soon. Ten years together meant that their routines were well-known to both of them. James would disappear, usually whilst Anthony was distracted, and then whenever Anthony realised that he had gone, he would come and find him. 

Sure enough, it was less than ten minutes before the hatch for the loft opened and Anthony climbed up. His hair was still damp and he was wearing a t-shirt that he had won in an unofficial drinking competition in a pub three years ago. Silently, he closed the hatch behind him before coming and sitting next to his partner. 

“Too loud?” he murmured. James nodded. Anthony reached over, gently putting his hand on James’ arm. When his touch wasn’t rejected, he began to rub his partner’s arm. He looked over the meticulously organised tanks on the table in front of them. “Do you need anything? Something to eat, a cup of tea?”

James shook his head. Inching forward a little, he reached over and picked up one of the models, a Mark V*, turning it over gently in his hands. Anthony had bought him this one on their fourth date, after he’d spent an afternoon telling him all about the Battle of Hamel and the use of the Mark V in the offensive against the German lines. Whilst it technically wasn’t the right tank for that battle, he’d been appreciative nonetheless. 

Reaching over, Anthony put his hand over James’. For the first time since he’d come into the loft, James turned to look at him. There was a soft smile on his face, but his eyes were full of worry. 

“I’m fine,” James managed to croak out after a moment. Anthony raised an eyebrow. He frowned at him. Anthony shook his head. Their communication was swift, silent. James never seemed to be able to do this with anybody else, but he had known Anthony for long enough to be able to decipher almost any look that he gave him. This one, with the slightly raised eyebrows and the pursed lips, meant that he didn’t believe him but wasn’t about to argue with him about it. 

“Okay,” Anthony said. He tapped James’ hand. “Tell me about this tank, then.”

“You know about this one,” James replied, nonplussed. Anthony’s expression changed then. The slight smile, the way his eyes crinkled, that one meant that he loved him. James felt something warm and gentle settle in his stomach. 

“I know. Tell me about it anyway.”

Chapter Text

“Sorry, only just got your message and thought it might be easier to call you. Um, I think that the slow cooker is in the cupboard next to the sink? On the right, I think. What do you want it for, anyway? I really hope you’re not about to attempt to cook with it, not after last time. Let me know if you manage to find it. Okay, love you, I’ll talk to you later.” 

***

The fridge is empty. 

James scratches his head as he stares at the empty shelves. How has he let this happen? Usually, he tracks everything in the house, making sure they never run out of anything, but he’s been letting it go since Anthony has been away. He never thought that it would get to this point, where the only things in the fridge are half a pint of milk, a small lump of cheese, and the jar of pickled beetroot that neither he nor Anthony have the heart to throw away despite the fact that they both hate it. 

He’s supposed to be leaving for work in ten minutes, and currently he has no lunch to take with him. He could go to the food van on the other side of the industrial park, but the moment Anthony hears about it he will go ballistic. He could stop on the way to work and grab something, but that will make him late. There are ration packs in the cupboard, lovingly stolen for him by Anthony before he went away, but there’s a limited supply. 

The ration pack is his best bet. He picks the beef stew and, after a moment of deliberation, a packet of the vanilla biscuits and shoves them into his bag. He’ll have to go to the supermarket after work, it’s unavoidable now. The thought causes him to grumble all the way out of the door and to work. 

It’s a quiet day in the office. Julian is allegedly out on some business trip to London, although James privately thinks that he’s only gone so that he can meet up with his old Tory party buddies in the Commons Member’s Bar. Mary’s out too, annual leave she’d booked weeks ago. Without Julian to joke around with, Robin has disappeared to somewhere or other. James doesn’t really mind. It allows him to get his work done in peace until lunch. 

Their office is unusual in that their kitchen contains a hob. It’s only a little two-ring electric one, and there is exactly one pan in the cupboard. Most of them don’t touch it, but James knows from experience that a cold ration pack is not a pleasant experience. He grabs the pan from the cupboard, waits the appropriate ten minutes for the water to reach a boil (why anybody would ever willingly have an electric hob he does not know) and puts the ration pack in to heat up. 

This gives him ten to fifteen minutes with nothing to do. He checks his phone. Anthony has left him a voicemail, which he resolves to listen to once he gets home, and a message reminding him to water the plants. A reminder pops up to refill his medication next week, which he adds to his mental to-do list. 

“Is that a ration pack?”

He looks up from his phone to find that Kitty is standing next to him. She’s smiling at him, putting something or other in the microwave. 

“Yes, it is,” he says, somewhat surprised that she has recognised it. 

“How come you’ve got that for lunch?” she asks. 

“I… ran out of food,” he admits. There’s something about Katherine that means he never quite feels that he can lie to her, unless it’s to protect her from something that will hurt her. She’s a very sweet young girl with a horrible sister and an apathetic father who would rather say nothing in order to keep the peace with his older daughter than protect his youngest. She frowns at him. 

“You’re not going hungry, are you?”

“No, nothing like that, Katherine. I simply haven’t been food shopping.”

“Oh. Well that’s okay!”

“Ration pack, eh?” Pat says as he comes up behind them and clicks the kettle on. The mug in his hand today says World’s Best Dad! in bright bubble writing. “Feeling nostalgic, Cap?”

“No, he ran out of food!” Kitty answers before James can say anything.

“I need to go shopping,” he says quickly as Pat’s smile starts to dim. It seems to placate him a little, the smile returning to its usual brightness. 

“I’m guessing Anthony does the food shopping, then,” Pat comments. 

“Usually, yes.”

“Does he do the cooking as well?”

“Oh, no. I love Anthony very much, but he’s not allowed to cook anything more complicated than scrambled eggs.”

“So you do the cooking?” Kitty asks. James shrugs a little as he glances at the pan on the stove. 

“Sometimes. I’m… getting better at it.” He avoids their eyes, focusing on the ration pack. “We’re both somewhat helpless in that department.”

“Carol was always the cook,” Pat says. He sounds somewhat miserable. “First three months after the divorce, I lived on Iceland ready meals.” 

“My mother cooked the most wonderful meals,” Kitty says. As far as James has ascertained, Kitty’s mother had died when she was a child. She doesn’t speak of her very often, and always looks upset when she does so. 

“Well, in a pinch, ration packs are very effective,” he says, changing the subject before Kitty can get too upset. 

“Do they taste nice?” Kitty asks. James glances at Pat. He knows that Pat enjoys camping, whether it be with the Scouts or with his son, and it wouldn’t surprise him if he’s purchased ration packs before now. Pat makes a slight face. 

“I like them,” James settles for saying. 

“I’d love to try one!”

“I could bring a pack in sometime next week, if you would like?”

“Oh, would you really!?”

“Of course,” James says as he smiles at Kitty. She grins back and thanks him. She is about to say something else when the microwave pings. Grabbing her food, she waves goodbye to him and Pat, and bounds back to her desk. James shakes her head as he watches her go.

“Uh, mate?” Pat says. He turns to him, about to say something about how he’s not lying and he really will bring in a ration pack for Kitty, when Pat points behind him. “I think your pan’s overflowing.”

“Damn!” he shouts, and rushes over to turn off the hob. 

***

“Hi, love.”

“Anthony, are you sure it’s in that cupboard?”

“What? I can’t hear you properly.”

“I said--damn it and blast it all to hell! I said, are you sure it’s in that cupboard?”

“I’m going to paint a picture now, and you’re going to tell me if I’m right. You were halfway in the cupboard when you called me, and you just hit your head crawling out of it.”

“Are you sure you didn’t install cameras before you went away?”

“And you’re sitting on the kitchen floor right now?”

“I swear, if you are spying on me…”

“I’m not. What do you want the bloody thing for anyway? Last time we used it, it nearly blew up half the kitchen. I think there’s still remnants of that stew under the cupboards!”

“No, I’m not using it. Young Katherine at work wants to borrow it. She’s just moved flats, you see, and the rent in this new place is so high that she doesn’t have enough money to buy one herself. I said she could use ours. She’s seen some recipes she wants to try on the Tik-Tok, apparently.”

“TikTok. It’s just one word. TikTok.”

“Tik Tok.”

“No, it’s--nevermind. Tell her she can keep the damn thing if she wants to.”

“That’s if I can find it.”

“If it’s not anywhere in the kitchen, try the shed. There’s a good chance one of us threw it in there after the stew incident.”

“I am not going in that shed.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“There are things living it in, Anthony!”

“No there isn’t. Stop being dramatic. It’s nice of you to do that for your friend, though.”

“What, Katherine?”

“Yeah!”

“She’s my colleague, not my friend.”

“If Julian asked you to borrow something, you’d say no straight away.”

“Yes, but Julian is--”

“Morally bankrupt, I know. But for Kitty, you’re spending your evening digging through cupboards.”

“We really do need to organise these kitchen cupboards. They’re a mess.”

“Don’t change the subject. It’s not a bad thing that you’ve got work friends, you know. Kitty sounds really nice.”

“Maybe I’ll introduce you two when you get back. She’s trying to get me to come to something called a ‘cat cafe’ with her.”

“Okay, well we are absolutely doing that.”

“Mm hm.”

“Shall I call you back later? I can hear you scrabbling around in the cupboards.”

“Would you mind?”

“Of course not! I’ll go and grab some food, then call you back in about half an hour?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll talk to you later.”

***

Oxford, 2013

When he had been younger, Christmas had not been a large affair in James’ family. His parents did not hold up the pretence of Father Christmas past the age of five or so, and the day was a stiffly regimented affair. They ate at twelve on the dot, they watched the Queen’s Speech at three, then presents were doled out and the family would separate to do their own thing. James’ presents were usually one of three things: something functional, a model, or books. He was quite happy with this arrangement.

The Havers family, however, went all-out at Christmas. 

Currently, it was eight in the morning and James was standing in the living room. The room looked as though a Hobbycraft had exploded within it, every surface and wall decorated with what James’ mother would distastefully refer to as Christmas tat. In the corner of the room was a large tree, haphazardly decorated with baubles and decor which had clearly been gathered over a number of years. The tree was topped with a wonky angel. Around the room were piles of presents, all labelled with names. 

The children were running around the room, showing off their new presents. Between them, Anthony’s older brother and sister had seven children, and they were all extremely excited that Father Christmas had made an appearance. Even one of the new babies, who was barely a year old, was squealing as he shook a teething ring in his mother’s face. 

“No, loves, you can’t have chocolate for breakfast,” Anthony’s sister was saying to her older children, nine year old Sophie, six year old Maeve, and three year old Nancy, as she bounced the aforementioned baby, one year old Henry, on her knee. 

“Don’t be silly, Annalise,” Mrs Havers said admonishingly, stepping forward. “It’s Christmas, and they’re at Grandma’s house. They can have whatever they want.”

The children cheered and made a beeline for their selection boxes before their mother could reply. 

“You weren’t winning that one,” Anthony’s older brother Adam said as he came over to stand next to his sister. He was holding his youngest child, three month old George, in his arms, whilst his two older children, five year old twins Felix and Francesca (who, James had learned early on, would never answer to her full name, only to Frankie), were fighting with foam swords next to their mother. 

“I know,” Annalise said with a grin. 

“Are you sure we’re not convincing you to have kids, Ant?” Adam called over, turning to Anthony. 

Anthony was standing with his mother by the tree. He looked up, as if he was surprised that anybody was talking to him. He glanced at James. It didn’t take long for James to realise that his partner was uncomfortable. The topic of children came up almost every time they visited Anthony’s parents. They’d talked about it very briefly about three years ago, but had quickly come to the conclusion that neither of them wanted children. It wasn’t sustainable with their jobs, anyway. Anthony was quite happy being the fun uncle, and James was quite happy to slip the children money and sweets now and again. 

“Leave the poor lad alone,” Anthony’s father grunted from the sofa. Mr Havers was a quiet man. James had once gotten trapped with him in a pub whilst Anthony and his mother went to say hello to some family friend who had wandered in, and the man had not said a word for twenty minutes. He was fiercely protective of his youngest son, though, and it was only recently that James had stopped feeling as though the man was trying to kill him by way of a smouldering glare every time he saw him. 

“Ant wouldn’t be able to handle it, anyway,” Annalise said. 

“I would!” Anthony exclaimed. 

“I mean, he can barely cook an egg!” Adam agreed with a laugh. 

“I’ll have you know that James and I are cooking dinner today, actually,” Anthony said. 

This was, unfortunately, true. Quite why Anthony had volunteered them to cook Christmas dinner for fifteen people he did not know, but they had been prepping for three days already. They’d made a plan which included an itemised list of all of the food items, a timeline and exact timings for each thing to go in the oven. The turkey was already in the fridge, defrosting and ready to go in the oven, and James had been up at eleven last night preparing the gammon joint. James shifted uncomfortably where he was standing and stared down at his glass of Buck’s Fizz, wishing that it was a stiff whiskey. 

“Mum, you’ve made back-ups, haven’t you?” Adam said, turning to his mother. 

“No, of course I haven’t,” Mrs Havers replied. Adam groaned, looking to his sister. 

“Google which takeaways are open, will you?” he said. 

“Do you really have that little faith in me?” Anthony asked. Adam turned to him then, a pitying look on his face. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Ant, but you once tried to make brownies and managed to fuse a pot and spoon together.”

“I was fifteen!”

“It doesn’t fill me with confidence, that’s all.”

“Stop teasing your brother,” Mrs Havers said then, stepping forward and glaring at her oldest child. Clearly it worked, as Adam nodded, looking down at the ground. “I’m sure he’ll do a great job!”

Anthony looked at James and gulped. 

By the time midday rolled around, Adam’s prophecy was coming true. Anthony and James had locked themselves in the kitchen an hour ago, giving everyone strict instructions not to enter. So far everybody had obeyed, which was a good thing considering the state of the food. 

“How?” James muttered as he pulled the oven open and wafted the smoke away with a tea towel. The turkey was looking blackened and burnt, but when he stuck a skewer in, he was met with solid, ice-cold meat. “How can it be burned and frozen at the same time?”

“Cauliflower cheese is fucked,” Anthony said, dumping a smoking saucepan into the sink. He had a tea towel over his shoulder and a frazzled expression on his face. “Currently, all we have to serve is a trifle and frozen peas.”

“How?” James repeated, still staring blankly at the turkey. 

“I fix tanks! I fix big military vehicles that none of them would even know where to start with! But oh no, none of that’s going to matter when we walk in there and tell them sorry, dinner’s fucked.”

“I don’t understand… how?”

“I’m never living this down. They’ll put it on my gravestone. Here lies Anthony Havers, he ruined Christmas dinner in 2013.”

Anthony groaned, sinking down to sit on the floor with his back against the cupboard under the sink. James finally shut the oven, coming over to sit next to his fiance. 

“What are we going to do?” he said. Outside the door, they could hear the rest of the family in the middle of a rowdy game of Monopoly. Anthony groaned again and allowed his head to hit the cupboard. 

“I have no idea.”

“Do we get your mother?”

“No!” Anthony cried, looking at James. “No, we absolutely cannot get my mother.”

“Your dad?”

“He’s worse at cooking than I am!” Sighing, Anthony pulled his phone from his pocket. “Maybe we can book somewhere in town, go out. Claim it was our plan all along.”

“Where on earth is going to have a table for fifteen people free on Christmas Day?”

“Good point.”

They looked at each other, then looked around the wreck of a kitchen. Multiple items of food were burnt and smouldering, and many hadn’t even reached the oven yet. The ham was sitting on the side, looking grey and anaemic. It was an utter disaster. 

“Right,” James said, his voice determined. “Here’s the plan. We are going to call my sister, and she is going to tell us how to fix this.”

“Is there any fixing this?”

“If there is, then Rosie will know.”

Anthony thought about it for a moment. He looked around the kitchen again, and then looked to the door that his family was just behind. Then he nodded. 

“Do it. Call her.”

Rosie was four years younger than James but was far more capable than him at many things, and she never let him forget it. When she picked up the phone and James shared their predicament, she had laughed for a solid minute, leaving James and Anthony anxiously glancing at each other. 

“Alright, alright,” James said crossly once the laughter crossed over the minute mark. “How do we fix this?”

“Jamie, there is no fixing this,” she said once she’d regained control over herself. Anthony made a noise and buried his face in his hands, looking as though he was about to cry. “How have you burned the turkey with it still frozen in the middle?”

“I don’t know!”

“Was it fully defrosted when you put it in the oven?” she asked. A guilty expression overcame James’ face.

“I… didn’t check.”

“You didn’t check. Of course you didn’t.” She sighed heavily. “Is anything salvageable?”

“We could scrape the burned top off the stuffing…?”

“No, you can’t. It’ll still taste burned.” He could practically hear her shaking her head at him through the phone. “It’s a good thing I predicted this.”

“What?” James said, just as Anthony took his hands from his face and exclaimed,

“I’m sorry?” 

“As soon as Jamie told me you two were cooking Christmas dinner, I knew you were going to fuck it up,” she said. The two of them glanced at each other, wondering whether they should be offended before realising that yes, that was a rather accurate assessment of their cooking skills. “So I planned for this. There will be taxis arriving in twenty minutes. They’ll bring you to mine, and you can all enjoy an actually edible Christmas dinner, alright?”

“I…” James stammered. “How did you know what time we’d call?”

“You sent me your plan, remember? I just made an educated guess.”

“Rosie, you’re a star,” Anthony said. Some colour had returned to his cheeks, and he was starting to smile again. 

“Yeah, yeah. You owe me a hundred quid in taxis, by the way.” 

“Consider it done. We’ll see you in just under an hour?”

“Yes, alright,” she said. “Don’t forget booze!”

James chuckled as he hung up and pocketed his phone. Anthony levered himself up from the floor in order to grab two glasses and the bottle of sherry which had been supposed to be going on the Christmas pudding. He poured two glasses, handing one to James before sitting back down next to him. 

“Thank fucking Christ for your sister,” he said. 

“Well, it is His birthday,” James replied. Anthony laughed a little, bumping his shoulder with his. 

“Sorry for signing us up for this. I just wanted to prove to my dickhead brother that I am actually capable of doing stuff, that I’m not this useless little ten-year-old following him around anymore.”

“Anthony,” James said admonishingly. “You’re a soldier, an officer. You fix huge vehicles in the middle of a warzone. You’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever met. You, Captain Havers, do not need to prove anything to him.”

Anthony smiled at him. Leaning over, he pressed a soft kiss to his lips. 

“Merry Christmas, love,” he murmured as they broke apart. 

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

They clinked glasses. Anthony downed his sherry quickly, bravely only screwing his face up a tiny bit before jumping up from the floor. He offered James a hand, helping him up and brushing the flour from his shirt. Then he marched to the door, flung it open and clapped his hands together.

“Coats on, everyone! There’s been a change of plans.”

Chapter Text

“Hi love, quick question. Can you remember the name of the arsehole who got promoted to Major at the same time as me? Very important, I need to win an argument and I know you’ll remember. Thank you, love you very, very much.” 

***

James is in what his husband refers to as one of his grumpy moods. Anthony is out on exercise for three days somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales. Whilst he doesn’t necessarily envy the fact that his husband is about to spend the next three days cold, covered in mud and sleeping in a tent, he does envy the fact that he is able to go on exercise in the first place. It sounds silly, he knows that, but it’s moments like this where he misses the army most. 

He knows that he shouldn’t be jealous that his husband is still in the army. It isn’t something he discusses with Anthony very often, partially because he knows that it upsets him. They’d talked the night before, and listening to Anthony talk about all of the plans for the exercise had brought the feelings back to the surface. He’d gone to bed slightly annoyed, and has woken up downright grumpy. 

When he gets to work, he chooses to ignore everybody. Anthony had bought him some wireless earbuds a year or so ago, and so he puts them in and clicks on a history podcast. If anybody tries to talk to him, he doesn’t know about it, and he ends up having a rather productive morning. Anthony tries to ring at around eleven, but James is still feeling grumpy and knows better than to inflict that on his husband, so he lets it go to voicemail. 

When lunchtime comes, he takes the earbuds out and immediately regrets entering the real world again. No longer is he listening to the story of Douglas Bader, but instead the chattering of the office. It’s not helping his mood. 

“Hey, Cap!” Pat says as he passes his desk. “Back with us, are you?”

“Unfortunately,” James grumbles. 

“One of those days, is it?” Julian says as he sidles up to them. James doesn’t deign the question with an answer, grabbing his phone and pocketing it as he stands up. He’ll listen to Anthony’s voicemail during lunch, see what he wants. Julian, however, is blocking his path to the break room. He sighs in frustration, glaring at Julian.

“Could you please move?” 

“For a price.”

James narrows his eyes at him. Julian simply grins. Sighing, he nods. “Are you ever jealous of Anthony?”

“What kind of a question is that?” James snaps. He looks to Pat for support, and surprisingly gets some as Pat is frowning at Julian. 

“There’s no need for that, mate,” the scout leader says to Julian. 

“It’s a yes or no question,” Julian continues, clearly not dropping this. 

“I’m not answering that,” James tells him. He’s about ready to simply push past him when Julian grins.

“Thus, answering it,” he says. 

“What the bally hell are you talking about?”

“You won’t answer. If you weren’t, then you’d just say no.”

“That’s ridiculous,” James says. He glances at Pat again, who nods. “Move out of the way, Julian.” 

“Alright,” Julian chuckles, holding his hands up as he moves to the side. James walks past him, making sure to bump him with his shoulder. It made him feel a tiny bit better. Maybe hearing his husband’s voice will improve his mood. 

When he does get around to listening to the voicemail, the name and the attached gossip which pops into his head certainly does improve his mood. 

***

“Thomason. His name was Thomason.”

“Thomason, that’s it! Hi, darling.”

“Hello. What possible argument could you have been having where Thomason would be relevant?”

“Nothing to worry about, just someone who swears that they were there when I know for a fact they weren’t. They said it was Jenkins, and I knew that wasn’t right.”

“Jenkins got promoted two years after you!”

“I know! All that matters is that I was right and I’ve won myself a week’s worth of free drinks in the bar when we get back.”

“What, right about it being Thomason or right about it not being Jenkins?”

“Both, really.” 

“Thomason really was a prat, wasn’t he?”

“Do you remember what he said to us?”

“‘You gay boys shouldn’t be allowed around the recruits, you’ll--’”

“‘Corrupt the entire army!’ Seriously, does he think homosexuality’s contagious or something?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I heard some very interesting rumours about him and a young recruit, though…”

“No, you can’t say that and not elaborate! How old was she?”

“How old was he, do you mean?”

“No!”

“Honest to God. From what I heard, it was his wife that caught them, in flagrante, in their bed.”

“No way.”

“She threw both of their clothes out of the front window, apparently.”

“Oh my God.”

“And their shoes.”

“What happened to them?”

“The divorce proceedings are still ongoing. Last I heard, Mrs Thomason bought a yacht with the money from their joint bank account and has settled in Corfu with her much younger lover.”

“How did I not know about this?”

“I thought I’d told you.”

“Trust me, if you’d told me, I’d have remembered. Is he still in the army?”

“Permanent desk duty.”

“Ouch. He’ll take early retirement, I bet.”

“Almost definitely.”

“Are you on your lunch break?”

“Yes. It’s nearly done, actually. I wanted to call you before I forgot his name.”

“Interesting day?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well, you’ve made my day far more interesting with that information. I’m off to gloat.”

“And to gossip, presumably?”

“Obviously.”

“Very well, darling. I have to go, I’m afraid.”

“Me too. My phone’s dying, I need to dig out that portable charger.”

“I’ll call you later?”

“Yes. If you remember anything else about Thomason, you have got to text me immediately.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

***

Defence School of Transport, 2014

“Okay, I’m going to start naming names and you’re just going to say yes or no.”

“But what if--”

“Nope. Gut feeling only. Okay, are you ready?”

“If we must.”

Wedding planning required far more logistics than James had first thought. They’d been engaged for five years, but they’d been on tour almost constantly and so the wedding had been the furthest thing from their minds. When the marriage equality ruling had come through the year before, however, they’d started some vague planning. Whilst they hadn’t booked anything yet, James had a folder filled with ideas for venues, decorations, and entertainment. Anthony was more concerned with the guest list, which is why he was reeling off the names to him in the mess hall.

“Cartwright,” Anthony said. James looked at him.

“Absolutely not,” he replied. “Are you just going to name every person we’ve ever met?”

“We know a lot of people,” Anthony said defensively as he crossed Cartwright’s name from the list in front of him. 

“I don’t understand why we can’t simply invite our families,” James said. 

“Your mum isn’t even coming,” Anthony pointed out. James shifted a little, uncomfortable all of a sudden. It was true. Whilst his mother knew of Anthony’s existence, she had never exactly acknowledged their relationship. Whenever he saw her, which was getting rarer and rarer as time went on, she would ask him how his “friend” was. She and Anthony had met, once. It had not gone well. Anthony was probably still banned from that restaurant. 

“My sister is,” he said. 

“Babe, we can’t have my entire family on one side and then just your sister, your brother-in-law and the kids on the other.”

“Why not?”

Anthony gave him a fondly exasperated look then. James frowned at him. He’d been about to speak again and ask why on earth they needed to invite somebody they’d only met a few times (specifically Nicholls, a young lieutenant who was friends with somebody in Anthony’s patrol and who occasionally joined them for game nights on tour) when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he froze. 

“Anthony!” Cartwright laughed.

Anthony had that polite look on his face, but when he looked at his partner his eyes were betraying the loathing he was feeling. Neither of them liked him much. They’d met the year before whilst on tour. Cartwright was a Major, although neither of them knew how. The man was next to useless and nobody, not even the people under his command, liked him. 

“George,” Anthony replied, his voice full of a forced, fake happiness. “How are you?”

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Cartwright said. Anthony and James glanced at each other. Was he talking about the wedding? James opened his mouth to reply, but Cartwright ploughed on. His hand tightened on James’ shoulder. “A Major this young, Anthony. You’ll have to come for a drink with us all.”

Anthony’s eyes widened and he looked away from Cartwright to his partner. The promotion had been a point of some contention for a number of weeks. Both of them had been up for it. Whilst James had years served and experience on his side, the interview had been an utter disaster. He’d panicked, forgetting everything he and Anthony had prepared for, and ended up on a long tangent about exactly how sand particles clogged up machine guns when they’d asked him about dealing with a wellbeing issue in his command. He’d barely spoken for three days after that. Anthony, of course, had aced the interview. Whilst he’d never actually told James how it had gone, this confirmed his suspicions. There had been two promotions up for grabs, and apparently James hadn’t gotten either of them. 

He was staring straight ahead, his jaw set. He was focusing on the REME symbol painted on the opposite wall, picking out individual brush strokes and counting them in an attempt to calm the heartbeat that was roaring in his ears.

“I…” Anthony stammered. He was still focusing on his partner. 

“Ever so sorry, James,” Cartwright said. He squeezed James’ shoulder again, making him wince. Anthony noticed this instantly of course, and laser-focused on the grip. “There’s always next time. Fifth try’s the charm, eh? Maybe you’ll get an interviewer who collects model tanks as well!” 

“Cartwright?” Anthony murmured. His voice was low, with a dangerous edge. Cartwright made a small noise, turning to look at him. Looking up, Anthony glared at him, his eyes furious. “I’d suggest you let him go.” 

Clearly Anthony’s tone was having an effect, as Cartwright did so without argument. The moment he was freed James stood up, not saying a single word as he walked straight out of the mess hall, not even bothering to grab his bag as he did so. He kept walking until he reached he and Anthony’s room. Locking the door behind him, he drew the curtains before walking over to the bed, lying down and pulling the covers over his head. He hadn’t even taken his boots off. It was better than hiding in the bathroom, he reasoned. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there when he heard a key turn in the lock. Turning away from the door, he pulled the sheet tighter around himself. However much time had elapsed, it was not enough time for him to be ready to talk about it. 

The door opened and closed. Something, probably a bag, dropped to the floor, and then the edge of the bed dipped. 

“James,” Anthony said softly. “I didn’t know.” 

James didn’t reply. He tried his very best not to huff, focusing on the feeling of the sheets. The sheets were safe. As long as he was under here, he didn’t have to get out of this bed, or leave this room, or face all of those people who knew that he was apparently incapable of getting a promotion. He didn’t have to face Anthony and tell him that, if it was up to him, he would have the promotion. 

It was a horrible thing to think, really. Underneath all of the jealousy surrounding the promotion, there was a distinctly uneasy feeling growing deep in his chest. Did it say something about him, that he couldn’t seem to even congratulate his soon-to-be husband on his promotion? Slowly, he reached up and moved the sheet from his face.

“Congratulations,” he said, and winced at how flat his voice sounded. 

“I didn’t want to find out like that,” Anthony said, shifting forward a little. He went to put his hand on his partner’s arm, but James jerked away on instinct. There was a moment and then Anthony drew his hand back. “I was going to check my emails later. I forgot that Cartwright has such a big mouth.”

“It’s fine,” James murmured. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Anthony, much to his credit, had not switched the light on when he’d come into the room. 

“Babe, it’s clearly not fine.” 

“You deserve the promotion.”

“So do you. I know how much you wanted this.”

James sighed, continuing to stare up at the ceiling. He could just about make out the water stain on Anthony’s side of the bed. There was so much he wanted to say, wanted to scream, really, but knew that he couldn’t. How had Anthony gotten the promotion when he’d been enlisted for nine years longer? Was it because Anthony had entered as an officer? Was he being penalised for taking the long route? That, he knew, really was a horrible thing to think, given that Anthony often worried that he’d taken a ‘short-cut’ to his rank. 

“It’s fine,” he found himself saying yet again. “Clearly I just don’t have what it takes.”

There was a moment. The bed dipped again, and then he felt Anthony’s body against his. 

“And what exactly would that be?” Anthony asked. 

“People skills,” James spat out after a moment. 

“People skills?”

“You’re… friendly. You talk to people who you don’t even know, often for no reason. People trust you. People talk to you, because they know you aren’t about to start talking about the North Africa campaign or the invasion of Sicily.” James levered himself up on his elbow, fixing Anthony with a frustrated look. “I don’t understand how to do that. It’s what’s blocked my last four attempts at promotion, as Cartwright so helpfully pointed out.”

There was a moment. Anthony was staring at him. His face was doing something strange, something James hardly recognised and did not have the energy to begin figuring out. Sighing, he dropped back onto the bed. 

“Well, for starters, don’t listen to Cartwright,” Anthony said. 

“Why not? He’s right.” 

“Love, Cartwright is an arsehole. We both know that. Please don’t start taking what he says to heart.”

“It’s not just him!” James exclaimed. “Everybody’s thinking the same thing. Nobody gets stuck at this rank for this long unless they’re useless.”

“That’s definitely not true.”

“Then how come you got the promotion and I didn’t?”

He hadn’t meant to say that. He pressed his lips together, screwing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t be tempted to turn and look at the no doubt hurt expression on Anthony’s face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“James,” Anthony said carefully after a minute or so. “This… this wouldn’t have anything to do with your mum, would it?”

James did sit up then. He fixed Anthony with a strange look. 

“What on earth does my mother have to do with this?” he asked. Anthony sat up too, crossing his legs and turning fully to his partner. He looked a little uncomfortable, picking at a hangnail on his thumb. 

“I heard her when you were on the phone with her last week. She badgered you about it for nearly an hour, even when you told her you didn’t know yet.” 

That was true. James rarely phoned his mother anymore, only really on her birthday and on the anniversary of his father’s death. On Anthony’s insistence, he had phoned her to try and convince her to come to the wedding. For a start, he’d had to remind her that he was getting married. She’d then asked what his future wife’s name was. When he reminded her that no, he was marrying Anthony, surely she remembered Anthony, she had sniffed, mumbled something he couldn’t quite make out, and changed the subject. He’d brought up the prospect of promotion purely to have something to speak about that wasn’t the neighbours’ new bathroom. He’d regretted that immediately, of course. She had felt the need to remind him, in detail, of his previous four attempts, and of how much his father had wanted him to get to the rank of Major. It hadn’t helped his nerves surrounding the promotion much. 

“It was nothing,” he said quickly. 

“She kept saying something about your dad.”

“Drop it, Anthony.”

Throwing off the sheets, James moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to his partner, and began to unlace his boots. Anthony stayed where he was.

“I still don’t know anything about him, apart from the fact that he died a couple of years after you got promoted to Captain,” he said. James didn’t respond. “You never talk about him.”

“I don’t need to talk about him.”

“You say that. Yet you still won’t touch the watch he got you.”

“It was expensive. I don’t want to break it. Can we please stop talking about this?”

Boots unlaced, he pulled them off and set them next to the bedside table. He’d have to polish them again soon. 

“I know you’re upset that your mum’s not coming to the wedding, even if you won’t say it,” Anthony said, not quite changing the subject but pivoting back to the original point in a way that both intrigued and infuriated James. He didn’t reply. “I get it, you know? I know I’d be upset if my mum wasn’t coming.”

“We’re not close,” James said. “I’m hardly surprised she’s not coming, and I’m certainly not upset about it.”

“James, she’s your mum,” Anthony said. He sounded almost heartbroken as he emphasised the last word. James, who had been considering turning around, stayed stalwartly facing the window. 

“So?” he replied. “She hasn’t taken much interest in me since I left home. It’s simply how we are.” 

“And your dad? Did he not take any interest either?”

“What does it matter?” James exploded, turning around. Anthony was staring at him, his eyes wide. “He isn’t here. I doubt he’d have come to the wedding anyway, if he’d have known.” 

“You never told him?”

“I never had any… reason to.”

He trailed off, taking a deep breath. “He liked that I was in the army,” he said after a moment. “That was all.”

“What do you mean?” Anthony asked. He gestured for his partner to come forward, but James shook his head. 

“It doesn’t matter. We weren’t close, anyhow.”

“So why did your mum talking about him get into your head so much when it came to the promotion?”

There it was, the question that James had been wishing that Anthony wouldn’t ask. He shook his head, walking around the bed with the intention of going out on a walk and returning when Anthony decided to finally drop the subject. As he did, Anthony grabbed his arm, making him look over at him. “Please,” Anthony said to me. “Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” James said, pulling away and folding his arms across his chest. “That the only thing my father and I ever spoke about was when I was getting promoted? How he pushed me to become an officer? How he spent my entire life telling me that I wasn’t made for it, that I was strange and that I’d never make it in the army? Is that what you want me to say?”

“James…”

“He wouldn’t have even spoken to me about the wedding. At least my mother still answers my calls. If my father had known about our relationship he’d have never spoken to me again, even if I had gotten the damned promotion.” 

Silence filled the space between them. Anthony was still sitting on the bed, just staring at him whilst he tried not to lose control of his breathing. There was a moment. Slowly, Anthony rose from the bed. James was about to open his mouth to speak again when Anthony came forward and gingerly wrapped his arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” Anthony murmured in his shoulder as James stood, rigid and frozen. “About the promotion, about your parents, about everything.”

Carefully, James found himself wrapping his arms around Anthony. It felt comfortable. Safe. Anthony always made him feel safe. 

“I loved my father very much,” he said quietly. “But he was a… difficult man. Regimented.”

“Well, you get that from him.” 

James huffed out a laugh as he rested his cheek against the top of Anthony’s head. 

“He had a plan for my sister and I. I was to go into the army and become a Major. My sister was to be a housewife. We were both supposed to give him grandchildren. If he’d have found out…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I did love him,” he said somewhat desperately. 

“I know.”

“And I do love my mother. She’s just… well, you remember. I don’t want that at our wedding.”

Anthony moved then to look at him. Smiling, he moved one hand to his cheek and pulled him forward for a kiss. James let him. 

“If you don’t want her there, then we won’t have her there,” Anthony said once they broke apart. He was gently stroking his partner’s cheek. James watched him for a moment. Maybe the promotion didn’t matter. He might not be a Major, but he had Anthony. Anthony was worth a thousand promotions and more. 

“Congratulations on the promotion, dearest,” he said. 

He really did mean it this time.

Chapter Text

“Hi. Can you call me when you get this? I can’t find my E45 cream anywhere, and my face is itching to high heaven. I need you to check to see if I’ve been a silly bugger and left it in the bathroom in the cottage. If you could check on-base as well that would be great, but don’t put yourself out. Okay, love you, I’m going to go and attempt to tear my own face off if this doesn’t stop soon.”

***

It’s lunchtime, and James is going through the photos on his phone in the break room. 

There aren’t many. He isn’t the sort of person who takes photos of every little thing. Lord knows Anthony takes enough photos for the two of them anyway. Most of his camera roll consists of photos he’s taken of his model tank collection, usually for when he needs to win an argument in the pub, and photographs of Anthony. 

He may be biased, but James thinks that his husband may be the most handsome man on the planet. No matter what photograph you take of him, he always looks good. Even on his ID badge for camp he looks good, which James previously thought was an utter impossibility. 

Currently, he’s scrolling through some photos from around a year ago. Some journalist or other was visiting camp, and was taking some photographs of Anthony as he taught the recruits. He’d been anxious about it, and thus had asked James to take some a week or so before the photographer came. “Just so I can work out if I pull some weird face whilst I’m working before it ends up splashed across the front page of the paper and half of the REME website,” he’d said. James had dutifully done so, and has not deleted the photographs since. 

“What’re you looking at?” Thomas says from behind him.

“Nothing!” he practically shouts, locking his phone as quickly as physically possible and turning to face Thomas. 

“Could it be photos of the elusive Anthony?” Thomas asks. He’s getting that look on his face that he gets when he’s about to start composing a poem right in front of you, and James bites back a groan. As seems to be the norm in the office now, the mention of Anthony’s name summons the rest of the group within the space of a few minutes, a few minutes during which James is forced to listen to Thomas try to come up with a poem. 

“Please God, what do I have to do to get this to stop?” he says once listening to Thomas try to find a rhyme for the word ‘soldier’ for almost two minutes straight becomes unbearable. Thomas’ eyes light up at that as he falls silent, glancing at the rest of the group. 

“Show us a photo of Anthony!” Thomas exclaims. 

“No,” James replies without thinking. He pockets his phone and rises from the table, making to leave the room. Robin blocks his path. 

“Then describe him, if you must,” Thomas says. “How am I to compose prose when I know not what he looks like?”

“How about don’t?” Julian mutters under his breath. For once, James agrees with him. 

“If I tell you,” he says carefully after a moment. “Then there will be no more questions for at least two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Julian exclaims. “That’s ages!”

“Do you want to know what he looks like or not?”

He waits, tapping his foot, as the group gathers into a tight circle, whispering amongst themselves. It takes around a minute or so, but when they separate, they all nod. James returns the nod, sighing a little and shifting on the spot.

How to describe Anthony? Now he had to actually do it, he was struggling to find the right words. 

“Come on!” Julian prompts.

“He has brown hair,” he starts. This clearly does not satiate the group, as almost all of them raise their eyebrows at him. “And, um… he’s a little taller than me. He tried to grow a beard once, but it looked terrible. He’s clean-shaven these days, mostly on account of the scars. And--”

“The scars?” Pat interrupts. 

Shit, he thinks. He hadn’t meant to mention the scars. Anthony won’t mind people knowing, but James knows that this is going to lead to questions, and it is not an event he enjoys remembering. He looks over them all. Can they be trusted to react appropriately? 

“Four years ago,” he starts carefully. Nobody says a word. “We were stationed in Afghanistan. It was our final active tour, actually. Anthony was out on patrol one morning when they came across a small rebel group. A firefight broke out…”

He has to stop, a lump forming in his throat. He looks down at the floor, willing himself to squash down the feeling of terror, the very same feeling that had filled him when he had first heard that Anthony had been injured. Taking a deep breath, he looks back up. The group all look stunned. “He was injured by a grenade blast. He’s okay now, but he has scars on his face from the burns.”

“I’m sorry,” Pat says after a few moments. “That must have been hard for both of you.”

“He’s okay,” James repeats. It’s something he’s repeated many times, both to himself and to Anthony, since the injury. “That’s the most important thing.”

After that, nobody seems to want to ask many questions. They disperse quickly, almost all of them coming up to him and offering him a pat on the arm or a squeeze of his shoulder. Before long, he’s alone again.

Once he’s sure that they’re all gone, he grabs his phone and pulls up that photograph of Anthony sitting on top of a tank as he teaches his class how to fix the hatches. It’s one of his best, he thinks. 

***

“Hi, love. Call off the search party, I found it stuffed in the back of the wardrobe.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, honestly. Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying.”

“I can practically hear you pacing from here.”

“I am not--stop laughing!”

“See, I’m fine! The scars were just itching, that’s all.”

“You said you were going to tear your own face off.”

“So I’m dramatic, sue me.”

“Anthony…”

“It’s my own fault, anyway. I ran out of laundry pods, so I borrowed some off someone down the corridor. No idea what they’re using, but it does not agree with my skin.”

“And you couldn’t simply go to the shop because…?”

“I was being lazy. Anyway, I was literally standing in the laundry room when I realised I didn’t have any.”

“How did I ever marry you?”

“Ah yes, because it’s totally normal for someone to have a running spreadsheet of every household item.”

“Do we ever run out of anything?”

“I see your point. How was work?”

“Dull.”

“Did they ask about me today?”

“You’re secretly enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am? Go on, tell me what they asked.”

“They wanted to know what you looked like.”

“Did you tell them that I’m devilishly handsome?”

“Very funny.”

“Are you saying I’m not handsome!? James, I’m hurt.”

“You’re impossible sometimes.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

“...I do.”

“I love you too. What are you eating tonight?”

“I have no idea.”

“It’s nearly seven! You’ve normally at least decided by now.”

“I don’t know. I’m tired.”

“At least try and eat something. Don’t just go to bed without anything because you can’t be bothered.”

“I’ll have toast.”

“You cannot just have toast for dinner, love.”

“Fine, I’ll make eggs or something.”

“Very good. Oh, I’ve got to go. There’s some sort of drinks reception thing tonight for which my presence is apparently required. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Very well. Please call me if you need me?”

“Of course I will, you silly man. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

***

Camp Bastion, 2015

“Injured coming in!” 

James looked up from where he’d been filling in some paperwork. The camp was quiet today, and he had a mountain of paperwork in his office building up. Today was the day he’d finally decided to tackle at least some of it. It had been a good two hours sitting in the quad with a cup of tea and no interruptions, until the young American had torn through the camp, shouting that. 

He jumped up from his seat. If people were injured, something had gone seriously wrong, because he hadn’t heard anything over the radio. A few others who were gathered were doing the same thing, and they all glanced between each other. They all seemed to be thinking the same thing. Whose patrols were out? Whose lads were at risk? James frowned, digging back through his memory. Were any of his lads out? No, they weren’t, they were all on maintenance today. 

Whose men could it be? Cartwright’s? No, he’d shipped out three months ago, thank God. Perhaps Smithfield’s? He was in charge of the recovery mechanics, and there were always a few of them sent out on patrol, just in case. His mind was still frustratingly blank. 

Two of the others were looking at him strangely now. He looked at them. Why were they looking at him like that? That’s the way that you looked at a spouse when you had to--

Anthony.

Anthony had gone out on patrol this morning with some of his lads. He’d kissed him goodbye, said he’d be back by lunch and asked James to save him something decent if he wasn’t. He hadn’t been back since, and the packet of biscuits he’d saved for him was still sitting next to his paperwork. 

Before he even knew what he was doing, he had taken off sprinting through the makeshift courtyard towards the medical tents at the front of camp. Somebody was shouting after him, calling his name, but he didn’t care. Had something come through on the radio? He hadn’t heard anything, but he’d been so absorbed in his paperwork… What if Anthony was injured? He flew past the accommodation blocks. The front of camp was getting closer. His lungs were burning, the heat unbearable. Oh God, what if Anthony was…? No, surely not, surely somebody would have come and found him if that was the case. He could hear alarms, announcements, the creak of the front gates opening. He was nearly there. 

He skidded to a stop at the edge of the makeshift road that led to the med tent. He could see the front gates. Four vehicles were speeding through. Medical vehicles. His heart was hammering in his chest. People were shouting, names and conditions and stats. He strained to listen. Where was Anthony?

“Ma...An… Hav…”

It was only a snippet, most of the words drowned out by the roar of Jeep engines. It was coming from the third car in the convoy. He watched as it swerved to a stop in front of the med tent. Legs suddenly shaky, he took a few steps towards it. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was someone with a disturbingly similar name. Maybe any moment now, Anthony was going to come walking around that corner, absolutely fine and calling him silly for worrying so much. 

They were taking the stretcher down. There were too many people around it, doctors and nurses and staff, to get a clear view of who was on it. He stepped forward. One of the nurses turned to bark an order to one of the young lads standing off onto one side. In doing so, she had moved in such a way so that James could see the person’s hand. 

That was Anthony’s wedding ring, he was sure of it. 

He started moving forward. If that really was Anthony, if his memory wasn’t playing some sort of cruel trick on him, then he was going to be scared. Anthony barely coped with a paper cut or a splinter. Whatever injuries he had were no doubt worse. He was going to be terrified and uncooperative unless James was there to at least calm him down.

He was barely four steps from the entrance of the med tent when someone stepped into his path. 

“Lieutenant Colonel Moore,” he stammered as he looked up at the man. Moore was a tough man. He overlooked the infantry boys, and took exactly no shit from anyone, but especially not from those who he outranked. He’d never kept his distaste for James and Anthony’s relationship a secret, either. Usually, James wouldn’t even go near the man, and would instantly back down if Moore challenged something he wanted to do. Not today. He set his jaw determinedly. “That’s my husband in there. You need to move.”

“No, I do not,” Moore snarled. He folded his arms across his chest. James clenched his fists. 

“Respectfully, sir, you do.”

“Well, disrespectfully, you do not need to be in there. Havers is a big boy, he can handle it.”

“He’s injured!”

“You will step away, Captain. You will go back to whatever it is you were doing. Do I make myself clear?”

James clenched his jaw. Moore was a superior. If he disobeyed, he was looking at possible punishment, and any chance of promotion was going to be scarpered to boot. Not only that, but Moore could very easily make his life hell if he didn’t tread carefully. 

He looked over Moore’s shoulder into the medical tent. Beyond the doctors, beyond the nurses, beyond the beeping and the shouting, he could hear Anthony crying out in pain. He could see him moving around. Someone was shouting about grenades and shrapnel and blood loss. 

Fuck promotion. His husband was more important. 

“Let me make myself clear,” he snapped, stepping forward so that he was toe-to-toe with Moore. The man’s nostrils flared. “That is my husband in there. He has been injured. He is scared. I have spent thirteen years with him, and I know that right now he needs me far more than the paperwork does. So no, I will not step away. Punish me, block any promotions I might be up for, hell, demote me if you so wish, but I will not be leaving him.”

Moore was furious, he could tell. The man was breathing heavily, bright red in the face and looking rather like he wanted to reach over and rip James’ head from his body. James didn’t care. 

“You, boy, will do as you’re told,” Moore said, leaning forward. He sounded angrier than James had ever heard him before. “They never should have let your kind in here. Pansies, the lot of you. Not even capable of following basic--”

“Captain Hutchins!” 

It was one of the nurses, standing at the edge of the med tent. Moore turned, as if he was about to shout at her too, but her glare stopped him in his tracks. She came forward, pushing past Moore and grabbing James’ arm. “You’re the husband, aren’t you?” she asked. James nodded. She let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God you’re here and not on the other side of camp. He’s asking for you. Won’t let us touch him.”

James turned to Moore. He looked even angrier than ever. 

“May I go, sir?” he asked placidly. Moore made a noise that sounded like someone strangling a cat, jerking his head in the med tent. 

“Get out of my sight,” he growled, and stepped aside. 

James followed the nurse towards the tent. A thousand questions were swimming around his head. Was it bad? What had caused it? Would he be okay? Eventually, he settled on one question in particular.

“Is he going to die?”

“No, petal,” the nurse said. Her eyes were full of sympathy. “God willing, this won’t kill him.”

“Comforting,” James muttered to himself, and followed her into the tent. 

It was chaos. The heart monitor was beeping rapidly, and people were shouting about burns. He stepped forward. Tutting, the nurse moved somebody, saying this is the husband, get out of the way. Three people at once moved away, and he clapped eyes on his husband. 

It was… bad. It was really, really bad. He resisted the urge to clap his hands over his mouth, knowing that that would only scare Anthony further. Almost the whole left side of his body had been burned, his uniform a scorched and ripped mess. He could see shrapnel sticking from his shoulder, blood staining what uniform was still clinging on around it. The flames from the grenade had reached his face, and his left cheek looked angry and red, the skin starting to bubble and peel. 

Worst of all, Anthony was awake. 

He was shouting something at one of the nurses who was trying to dab water on his cheek, twisting away from the gauze. His eyes were bright and wild, reminding James a little of how he looked when he was feverish. Was he even aware of what was going on? James could feel tears forming, and pushed them down. No. Later. Right now, Anthony needed him. 

“I’m here, Anthony,” he called as he made his way to Anthony’s right side. He reached up to put his hand on Anthony’s face, but withdrew. Would it hurt him? Anthony turned to look at him. The burn looked even worse up close, and James swallowed down a gag. “I’m here, darling.”

“James…” Anthony breathed. His voice was raw and hoarse, like he’d been screaming. “I-I heard you shouting. I…”

“Don’t you worry about that,” James said quickly. He glanced outside the tent, but Moore had disappeared. Good riddance, James thought.

“Th-there was a-a-a fight… an-and the-there was a-an explo-lo-sion…”

“I know. I know.” He glanced at the doctors and nurses. Now that Anthony had stilled somewhat they were working rapidly, inserting IV lines and starting to cut away at the mangled uniform. He looked back at Anthony. “You’re going to be fine, do you hear me?”

“It hurts.”

“I know it does.”

“I l-l-love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

“Anthony,” the doctor directly across from James said. Her voice was raised somewhat, ensuring that everyone could hear her. “We’re going to give you a sedative, okay, just to make you a bit more comfortable.”

“James,” Anthony said, his voice filled with urgency as he reached up and grabbed his partner’s arm. James nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” James repeated. Shaking, he reached up and gingerly placed his hand in Anthony’s hair. He could feel sand beneath his fingers. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

It took barely ten seconds for Anthony to drop off to sleep once the sedative was injected. As soon as he did, James was pushed out of the way, the medical staff too concerned with cataloguing Anthony’s injuries and prioritising treatments to worry about him. He found himself stumbling backwards until he was out of the medical tent, almost at the edge of the road. 

Somebody caught his arm. Peterson, he realised when he turned. Peterson was a lieutenant under Anthony’s command, and often spent evenings playing cards with them. James was best at gin rummy, Anthony was the strongest at poker, but Peterson beat them all hands-down at Uno. 

“Captain,” Peterson said. “Is it true? Is it--”

“Yes,” James replied, voice shaking. He felt sick. The image of that burn on Anthony’s face was sticking in his mind. “Yes, it’s him.” 

Peterson was silent then. He was silent as he took James by the arm and led him through the camp. Occasionally he gestured to people or shook his head to others, but he was silent as they made their way to a quiet room in some building at the far end of camp. He was silent as he sat James down on a chair, pressed a glass of scotch into his hand, and then sat down opposite him. 

James stared into the drink. It was stupid, really, to think that they could both be in a warzone for over ten years without one of them getting hurt. Why couldn’t it have been him? Why wasn’t it him who went out on patrol that morning? 

“The biscuits…” he murmured.

“What was that, sir?” Peterson asked. 

“I-I saved him biscuits. Custard creams. They… they’re next to my paperwork.” He looked at Peterson. He was surprised to see that other people were creeping into the room, all people who were serving under either him or Anthony. “It looked bad. A grenade, I think they said.”

“He’ll pull through,” somebody called from the group that was gathering by the door. A young corporal in Anthony’s command, James realised after a moment. 

“Nothing will take him down,” somebody else agreed. 

“Did they say how long it would be?” Peterson asked. His voice was more gentle than the others. James shrugged, taking a sip of the scotch. It helped to take away the taste of sand and blood and charred flesh. 

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peterson said. He glanced at the others, who all began to nod. “You’ve got us here to wait with you until we know more.”

“Won’t you get into trouble?” James asked. 

“He’s one of us,” the young corporal said, her voice set and determined. “We’ll wait here, as long as it takes.”

“As long as it takes,” James murmured, and downed his drink.

Chapter Text

“Hi, darling. Are you busy? My shoulder is giving me all sorts of trouble today, won’t move how I want it to no matter what I do. If you could call me, I’d love to hear your voice. Don’t go worrying yourself, I’m fine, just annoyed. I love you. Call me later?” 

***

James isn’t sleeping very well at the moment. It’s an unfortunate side-effect of Anthony being away. Almost seventeen years of sleeping next to another person means you become accustomed to it, and accustomed he certainly is. The first couple of months hadn’t been too bad, but the past month or so has been worse. Last night, he’d been awake almost every hour, with it taking ten or fifteen minutes each time to get back to sleep. Because of this, he’s exhausted.

He’s forgone his usual cup of tea for coffee, but it’s not really helping. He’s not supposed to have too much caffeine, but he’s seriously considering having that third cup, just so he doesn’t fall asleep at his desk. The numbers on his screen keep blurring together. 

Stifling a yawn, he looks around the office. Everybody is engrossed in their own work, even Julian. He looks back to his computer screen. His eyelids are growing heavier. He yawns again. He will not fall asleep. He won’t. His head nods forward, and he jerks back upright. He will not allow himself to fall asleep, he tells himself sternly as his eyes slide closed. 

“Go, go, go!”

“IED, IED!”

“Th-there was a-a-a fight… an-and the-there was a-an explo-lo-sion…”

“Is he going to die?”

“There’s a gun! There’s a--”

He wakes with a shout, jumping out of his seat as he looks around wildly. His heart is racing and it takes him a moment to remember where he is, the edges of his vision fuzzy with fear. The office, of course. He’s not in Afghanistan. He hasn’t been there for almost four years now. 

“Cap, Cap!” someone is shouting, but the panic clinging on to the edge of his consciousness means he can’t quite work out who it is. He grabs his desk, focusing on the feeling of the wood and vinyl under his fingers as he closes his eyes, breathing deeply. 

It’s been a long time since he’s had a nightmare. It does happen sometimes, particularly if he’s stressed or upset. Anthony suffers more with nightmares than he does. 

Someone is grabbing his shoulder, trying to get him to sit down. Not opening his eyes, he shrugs them off, continuing to focus on his breathing. 

When he eventually opens his eyes around three minutes later, everyone is staring at him. They’ve all left their desks and have formed a semi-circle around him. None of them are particularly close to him. He glances between them. They all look nervous, maybe a little scared. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Are you alright?” Pat asks. 

“Yes,” he replies. Robin raises his eyebrows. “I’m simply tired.”

“Was it a flashback?” Kitty says. James shakes his head as he lets his desk go and flexes his hands. 

“No. It was just a nightmare. They happen, sometimes.”

The way that they’re looking at him forcefully reminds him that these are civilians. They have not seen combat or experienced war, and thus have no way of understanding it. There’s a reason why veterans tend to go into similar industries after leaving the Forces. Had this happened around other veterans, all James would get is a quick check-in, and then it would be dropped once he confirmed that he is okay. The way that the office is looking at him tells him that this is not getting dropped any time soon. “Anthony has them more than I do,” he tries. The looks stay. He sighs. “I really am fine.”

“Do you need to go home?” Alison asks a little anxiously. “Because if you do, it’s fine.”

“I do not need to go home,” he says. What he needs is for his husband to come home and to get a good night’s sleep, but he keeps that thought to himself. 

“Have five minutes, at least,” Alison replies, gesturing to the break room. James opens his mouth to protest, but the looks make him stop. Five minutes. If five minutes will stop them from staring at him like this, then it’s worth it. 

“Very well,” he says, and makes his way to the break room, determinedly not looking behind him at the rest of the office. 

***

“...”

“Anthony? Are you okay?”

“Hi, love.”

“Are you crying?”

“Only a little bit. It’s been a shit day.”

“Is it your shoulder?”

“Stupid bastard thing. It’s not even fucking hurting that much.”

“You should have called me. I only just got your voicemail.”

“You were at work, it’s fine.”

“Nonsense. I could have stepped out for a few minutes.”

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking worked up about it. I tried to pick up some equipment during a demonstration this morning and this, like, bolt of pain just shot through my shoulder and my arm went all funny and I dropped it. It nearly crushed a recruit’s foot.”

“The recruit is fine, presumably?”

“Well, yeah, but I had to cut class short. Everyone kept looking at me during lunch. I’m worried they’re going to use this as an excuse to discharge me.”

“Can I be blunt, or are you looking for emotional support?”

“Please, God, be blunt with me. I can’t take one more fucking person asking me if I’m okay.”

“Very well. You’re being overly dramatic. You dropped one thing. Nobody was injured, nobody is thinking any less of you. You have documented nerve damage in your shoulder from a grenade blast, so sometimes it is going to hurt and, yes, sometimes you will drop things. If they were going to discharge you because of that, they’d have done it in the six months you spent in rehab and physio.”

“But--”

“Go to physio. Use your heating pad. Remember that it’s only temporary. And stop worrying.”

“...God you’re fucking hot when you use that voice.”

“Anthony Havers, you wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Okay, okay!”

“Sorry, I got carried away.”

“No, don’t apologise. That was even hotter.”

“You sound happier.”

“That’s what happens when I get to talk to my sexy, sexy husband.”

“I hate to bring your attention back to the matter in hand, but is your shoulder any better?”

“A bit. I think I’ll have to go to physio tomorrow.”

“I think that’s a very good idea. Will you be okay tonight?”

“I’m going to take some naproxen and fall asleep in front of shitty television. I’ll probably feel better in the morning.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow before I leave for work.”

“Thanks, love.”

“And you will call me if you need me, yes?”

“I will, I will.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

***

The Queen Elizabeth Hospital Birmingham, 2015

It was three in the morning. James was supposed to be asleep forty-five minutes away right now. He’d quite like to be asleep forty-five minutes away, considering that he’d spent the last two months in a state of almost-constant panic. Instead, he was standing in the lobby of the QE Hospital in Birmingham, exhausted and still dressed in his pyjamas. 

It had been two months since Anthony had been injured. He’d been flown back to the UK three days after the injury, with James following behind less than a week later. It had been two months filled with burn care, infections, and many, many tears from both of them. Originally, James had been living out of a single suitcase of hastily-packed items, bouncing between hotels in Birmingham city centre due to not wanting to be too far away from Anthony. The arrangement quite quickly became unsustainable, not just for James’ wallet but for his sanity. Between the fluorescent lights and constant white of the hospital, the changing scenery each week, and the fact he was only getting a few hours of sleep each night due to worrying about his partner whenever he wasn’t sitting right next to him, he was being driven towards an exhaustion-related breakdown. For the first time in his almost thirty years in the army, James had rung the wellbeing officer for their unit and begged them to help him. Thus, a room had been sourced for him at the nearest base, and he’d finally been able to get some sleep. 

When he wasn’t being called back to the hospital, that was. 

When Anthony had had his first flashback, it had been put down to the infection he’d had at the time. It had only been short anyway, and he’d quickly come back around, being a little confused but seemingly okay. It had gotten worse from there. The flashbacks were becoming more frequent, and were quickly joined by intense nightmares. Trial and error--mainly an incident where Anthony, still firmly trapped within a flashback following a nightmare, had ripped his IVs out and proceeded to use said IV pole to threaten a number of members of staff--had shown that the only thing that would calm Anthony down, and stop him from attempting to escape from not just the ward but the entire hospital, was his husband. 

Hence why James was currently standing in the hospital lobby in his pyjamas. 

It was the third night in the row that he’d received a call from a harried-sounding nurse telling him that he needed to come to the hospital. At this point, he was on first-name terms with the night guardman on the base, and he was spending a frankly extortionate amount on petrol. At that moment, he was waiting for the nurse to come and fetch him so that he could be escorted up to the ward. 

He yawned as he attempted to rub some of the sleep from his eyes. The drive had gone by quickly, the traffic practically non-existent at that time in the morning. He’d grabbed a far-too expensive coffee from a twenty-four hour Starbucks on the way, needing something to keep himself awake. He was still sipping it, even though it was starting to go cold now. 

“James,” the nurse called from the other side of the lobby. 

He turned to look at her. The two of them had gotten to know each other quite well over the past few weeks, whilst she had been on the night shift and James had been called in most nights. She was around his age, had a broad Black Country accent, and took little nonsense, but seemed to have a soft spot for both Anthony and himself. She always stole the good chocolates for him from the nurse’s station, anyway. 

“Lindsay,” he called back, almost relieved as he started to make his way towards her. He dumped the coffee in the nearest bin as he did so, admitting defeat and accepting that he was simply going to have to stay tired. 

“I was hoping I wouldn’t see you again tonight,” she said as he reached her. 

“Not that you aren’t terribly lovely, but so was I,” James replied. “How is he?”

“Well, we’ve not thrown anything yet,” Lindsay told him. They began to make their way towards the lift. 

“That’s better than last night.” 

“He did apologise this morning about that. I’m still impressed at how quickly you ducked.”

James couldn’t help but huff out a laugh as they stepped into the lift. He’d managed to sleep until four the previous morning, and had had to dodge a thrown cup as he’d entered Anthony’s room. He hadn’t been sure whether Anthony remembered or not. It had certainly been one of the more eventful nights. 

They were silent as they went up to the top floor. James could feel dread growing in the pit of his stomach with each floor they passed. What was going to be waiting for him in Anthony’s room? Was he going to have to dodge projectiles again? Was Anthony going to be shouting orders at people? The exhaustion was creeping back into his mind. God, he needed to sleep. 

When they stepped onto the ward, they couldn’t hear shouting or banging. That, James reasoned, was probably good. It meant he wasn’t going to be playing an impromptu game of dodgeball, anyway. Lindsay glanced at him, concern in her eyes. 

“What?” James said. She shook her head. They continued towards Anthony’s room. When they got closer, he realised that there were a number of staff outside the room. None of them turned to look at them as they approached, and he could feel the dread growing again. As they reached the room, Lindsay pushed him forward so that he could see Anthony. 

He wasn’t shouting, or throwing things, or doing much of anything, really. Instead, he had wedged himself into the corner of the room. He was curled into a tight ball, his head hidden in his arms, which wrapped around his knees. He was rocking back and forth. 

“He was shouting when I left,” Lindsay was saying to the other nurses behind James as he crept forward, putting his hand on the door. “What happened?”

“This happened a couple of minutes after you went,” one of the other nurses, someone James vaguely recognised from a couple of nights ago, said. “We were going to bleep you, but we knew you were fetching James.”

“Can I go in?” James asked, turning to look at them. They were all staring at him. 

“You know where the call button is if you need it,” Lindsay murmured, and pushed the door open for him. 

James crept into the room. Anthony didn’t seem to have registered his presence yet. He wondered whether he should call his husband’s name, but decided that no, he didn’t want to spook him. He settled for quietly making his way over to his husband. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Anthony was murmuring, he realised as he got closer. The tiredness was starting to disappear from his mind now. There were more important things at hand than his own exhaustion. It was like when you were on exercise. No matter how tired or cold or hungry you were, you did what needed to be done. 

When he was about two feet away from Anthony, he lowered himself to the floor. It wasn’t a particularly easy task anymore, given how creaky his knees had become over the past few years. 

“Anthony?” he whispered. “It’s me.”

Anthony didn’t look up. He was shaking his head, still repeating the word no over and over again. “It’s me, James,” he tried. “I’m here.”

No response. James glanced at the door. The nurses were all still watching them. Scooting forward a little, he reached out and hovered his hand just above Anthony’s. “Dearest, it’s me. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

Finally, Anthony looked up enough for James to see his eyes. The burns on his face looked nowhere near as bad as they had done when they were fresh, but they still stood out, red and livid, against his pale skin. He was crying, his eyes red and bloodshot. 

“James…” he croaked. James edged forward again. He let his hand brush over Anthony’s. When his touch wasn’t rejected, he rested his hand on Anthony’s arm. 

“I know,” he said. 

“I was…”

“I know.”

“It hurts.”

Anthony hadn’t said this much. Despite everything, he’d rarely complained of his injuries hurting. For some reason, that seemed to make James’ heart break in two more than anything else. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. 

“I know it does,” he replied. “You’ve been so brave, Anthony.”

“I don’t want to be brave anymore.”

“Then don’t be.”

Anthony flew forward, almost knocking James over as he tackled him in a hug. He buried his head in the crook of his husband’s neck, letting out the biggest sob James had ever heard. James wrapped his arms around him. That was where they stayed for the next twenty minutes as Anthony cried into James’ shirt. 

When he did move, Anthony was silent. He extradited himself from his husband, standing and walking back over to the bed. James followed him after a moment of struggling to get off the floor. “Anthony?” he said. 

“I’m tired, James,” was all Anthony said as he crawled back into the bed. 

James had been intending to stay awake, just until he was sure that Anthony was okay. The moment that he sat in the chair next to Anthony’s bed, though, the exhaustion and the worry hit him all at once. He barely registered the door to the room opening before he dropped off to sleep. 

When he woke up, it was almost eleven in the morning. Anthony wasn’t anywhere to be seen, the bed in front of him empty. He ran his hand through his hair, blinking as he looked around the room. At some point whilst he’d been sleeping, somebody had thrown a blanket over him. As he removed the blanket and stretched out his stiff limbs, he vaguely realised that this was the first decent block of sleep he’d had in months. He didn’t feel much better for it.

“Good morning,” Morgan, the day nurse, said as she bustled into the room. He looked at her, trying to pull a greeting from somewhere in his jumbled brain, but nothing came forth. “Anthony’s at physio for his shoulder. We thought we’d let you sleep a bit longer.” 

“How is he?” James asked. Morgan frowned a little.

“He’s… quiet.”

That wasn’t good. For as long as James had known him, Anthony had never been quiet. Even now, with the flashbacks and the nightmares as they were, he wasn’t quiet. The dread was back, growing out of his stomach and pushing up into his chest. 

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” he asked instead. “I think the parking’s run out on the car.”

“Oh, Lindsay sorted that for you when she left this morning,” Morgan said. 

“She did?”

“She said to tell you you’ve got until end of visiting tonight.” 

Whilst that was extremely nice of her, and he was glad to not have to fight with the parking machine, James was now feeling at a little bit of a loss for what to do. The last dregs of sleep were still clinging to the edges of his consciousness and didn’t seem to be disappearing no matter how much he tried to blink them away. Morgan seemed to notice this as she gave him a small smile. 

“Let me get you a cuppa, love. He’ll be another twenty minutes or so.”

The tea was good. If there was something that the NHS always got right, it was tea. He stood at the window, sipping his tea as he looked out at the grey and dreary day. This, he knew deep down, was not sustainable. Would it be selfish to tell Anthony that he couldn’t keep doing this, that he couldn’t keep rushing out in the middle of the night? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be there for his husband. If he had it his way, he would be at the hospital all of the time, but there were visiting times for a reason. It was getting to the point where he did not know how to help anymore. 

Somebody had mentioned a psychiatrist a few weeks ago, when the nightmares were first starting to get bad. Anthony had refused outright. “It’s a few bad dreams,” he’d argued, “nothing to bother a psychiatrist about.” Nothing anybody said to him seemed to be changing his mind, even as the nightmares became more and more frequent. James had let him be, not wanting to seem pushy, but it was too much now. 

By the time Anthony got back, he’d finished the cup of tea and was just placing the empty cup onto the bedside table. The nurse pushing Anthony’s wheelchair glanced at him, but said nothing as she parked him next to the bed.

“Bloody wheelchair,” Anthony muttered once she’d left, closing the door behind her. “I told them I’m perfectly capable of walking, my legs are fine.”

“You need to see a psychiatrist.”

Anthony stopped from where he was halfway to getting back into bed. He was staring at his husband. James wasn’t looking at him, instead staring at the wall just to the left of him. 

“James,” he started.

“No,” James said. “I’m sorry, but I am going to talk now and you’re going to listen to me until I’m done.” 

There was a moment. Then Anthony nodded as he lowered himself back into the wheelchair.

“Go on,” he mumbled. 

“You’re miserable. You say you’re not, but I know you are. I know you’ve been injured, and that you’re in pain, but that’s not what’s making you miserable, or at least not entirely. You’re not sleeping properly, Anthony. These nightmares…” James laughed a little, reaching up and running a hand through his hair. He glanced up at the ceiling before looking back at his husband. “Do you even know what you’re like when you wake up? You won’t tell me what they’re about, only that I calm you down. There’s only so much I can do, and it just keeps getting worse. I’m exhausted. Every night, I come back here. I’m worried that one night, they’re going to call me and I’m not going to be able to calm you down. I’m worried you’re going to hurt someone, or maybe even yourself. So no, I can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep doing this. You need to speak to a psychiatrist. Today.”

The rest of the words came out all in one breath, and James found himself rather light-headed as he stopped. Anthony was staring at him. He hadn’t moved an inch, and was gripping the edge of the wheelchair so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. 

“Are you done?” he murmured after a few moments. James nodded. Anthony stood up from the chair, bracing himself on the bed. “Yes, I’m miserable. Everything hurts. My shoulder is fucked. The jury’s still out on whether they’re going to discharge me because of this. Everything I’ve worked for since I was eighteen, down the fucking drain. And I can never forget about it, because I’m going to see it every time I look in the mirror. Shockingly, no, I’m not sleeping very well. If they’re calling you and it’s such a burden, then put the phone down and don’t come. You know what, I don’t even want you here. I’m sorry if you’re losing a bit of sleep whilst my entire life is falling apart!”

Anthony’s voice had risen to a shout, and he was breathing heavily, glaring at his husband. James had taken a step back. 

“That was uncalled for,” he said quietly. 

“Well it’s fucking true!” Anthony shouted. His legs were shaking but he was clutching the bed, seemingly determined to stay upright. 

“I’m worried about you.”

“More like you’re worried about having to look at the scars when we’re fucking.”

“No,” James said. He grabbed the mug from the table and his bag from next to the chair, storming towards the door. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back. “No. You don’t get to say things like that to me.”

“Where are you going?” Anthony asked. It was as though the anger had flooded out of his body, his voice small and his legs shaking even more as he struggled to stay standing. James paused in where he had been shrugging his bag on. 

“I don’t know,” he said. 

“Please don’t leave.”

“A moment ago, you were saying you didn’t want me here.”

“But I don’t want you to go.”

Finally, Anthony’s legs gave out and he collapsed back into the wheelchair. Argument forgotten, James rushed forward, letting his bag drop to the floor. Once he had given Anthony an admittedly rudimentary once-over, he sat on the edge of the bed.

“This is what I mean,” he said softly. Anthony was staring at his lap. “This isn’t normal. Please, speak to a psychiatrist.”

“What if it doesn’t get better?” Anthony whispered. He was refusing to meet James’ eye. James reached forward, taking his hand. 

“All you can do is try. That has to be worth something.”

A moment passed. Then, Anthony squeezed James’ hand.

“Alright,” he said, his voice quiet. 

“You’ll talk to someone?”

“Yes.”

James smiled at him. Anthony didn’t see it, still focused on his shoes, but he squeezed his hand again. It seemed to say I want to get better.

That was all James needed.

Chapter Text

“James, could you send me the mortgage documents for the cottage when you get a chance please? For some bastard reason the CO here needs to see them. Could not tell you for the life of me why. I tell you what, that man is getting right on my nerves. I have no idea who put him in charge, but I would love to meet them and exchange a few choice words. Ugh. Anyway, yes, can you please send me the documents? Love you.”

***

It’s been a long day at the office. 

Between one of his spreadsheets attempting to delete itself, avoiding Julian and his now constant requests for a photograph of Anthony, and spending his lunch break finding the mortgage documents to send to his husband, it’s been a somewhat frustrating day. Thankfully it’s Friday and he doesn’t have to see anybody he works with until Monday now. He’s very much looking forward to going home, finding something in the freezer to have for dinner, and falling asleep in front of a documentary. 

At least, that’s what he would be doing if the damn car would start.

He turns the key again. The engine makes a sad spluttering sound, coughs, and dies out. It’s done the same thing all five times that James has tried to turn it on. What’s that thing that they say? That the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results? Even so, he’s turning the key for a sixth time, hoping that this will be the one which kick-starts the car to life. 

Nope. The same thing happens again. He sighs frustratedly, hitting the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. It hurts. The car had been absolutely fine this morning, starting first time and making the twenty-minute journey with no complaints. Maybe the seventh time will be the charm?

This time, something different does happen. It is not the something different that James has hoped for, the one which will allow him to go home. No, instead of a spluttering sound, the car makes an almighty bang. It makes him jump. Then white smoke starts to leak out from under the bonnet. 

He jumps out of the car, grabbing his bag as he does so. The bonnet is hot to the touch, and the smoke isn’t slowing down. Anthony may be far better with vehicles than he is, but even James knows that one, this is probably a coolant issue, and two, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. 

Leaning against the car door, he groans and puts his head in his hands. This is not how his weekend is supposed to start. It’s not like he can call Anthony to pick him up, considering that he’s in Yorkshire. The car is not moving by itself, and a quick Google of the prices of local tow trucks makes his eyes widen in shock. 

This leaves him two options to get home. Either he gets on the bus, or he calls a taxi. The bus will be cheaper, but the taxi will be faster. Both options involve having to deal with other people, something which is not particularly appealing to him right now. 

He’s never been stuck at work before. The car has given him trouble before now, but he’s always been able to call Anthony, who will not only come and pick him up, but will often fix the car then and there. Now, Anthony isn’t here to save him, and he is utterly trapped. 

Even if he does manage to get home, the entire routine is out of whack. He’s supposed to call Anthony at six-thirty when he gets off duty. A quick glance at his watch tells him that it's nearly six o’clock already. Realistically, it’ll be an hour or so until he’s home, which means he won’t be able to call Anthony until seven at the earliest. It’ll be at least half past seven when he gets off the phone, if not later, which means he’ll be eating late. If he eats late, then he’ll be sleeping late. Then he’ll be up late tomorrow, and--

“Cap? You okay?”

It’s Alison. She sounds worried, and rather close to him. Without realising it, he’s started quietly crying in the middle of the car park. Horrified, he swipes at his eyes, but it isn’t working to stop the tears. If anything, he starts crying even harder. There’s a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Has something happened?” she asks. 

“I’m fine,” he manages to say after a moment. Even he knows it’s weak, given that he’s actively sobbing. Alison starts rubbing his shoulder in a way that reminds him so much of how Anthony comforts him when he’s upset that it takes all the strength he has not to sink onto the tarmac, curl up into a ball and cry until there are no more tears left. 

“Has something happened to Anthony?”

“No, no.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, and focuses on that fact rather than this disaster of a day. Anthony is alright. That’s a fact that has gotten him through the last three or so months whilst Anthony has been gone. 

“What’s happened?”

“It’s the car,” he says as he moves his hands from his face. He’s acutely aware that he must look like a right mess, but he’s too frazzled and upset to care. He gestures to the bonnet, where smoke is still curling out. “It’s broken. I have no idea how to fix it, or how to get home.”

“Well, I can drop you off home,” Alison says. He looks at her, eyes wide.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem. Mike can manage without me for a little bit longer.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble…”

“Cap, Cap,” she tells him with a small laugh. “It’s fine. I offered.”

He gives her a watery smile.

“Thank you. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Do you need to call Anthony?”

“No, he’s still on duty for another…” He checks his watch quickly. He’s surprised to find that it’s almost half past six. Has he really been standing here, crying, for half an hour? “Five minutes or so. I’ll call him when I get home.”

“If you’re sure,” Alison says. She hands him her phone. “Just put your postcode in and we’ll get going.”

They spend the twenty-minute drive in silence. James’ phone keeps buzzing, messages from Anthony now he’s off-duty, probably some wondering why he’s not called yet. James can’t bring himself to look at them. Every so often, Alison glances at him. Her concern is clear in her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything to him. 

“Thank you,” he tells her awkwardly when they pull up outside the cottage. She smiles at him. 

“It’s nothing.” She looks at the cottage. “This is lovely. How long have you lived here?”

“Three years. We bought it when we were re-stationed at the local base.” 

What is it you’re supposed to do to thank someone when they’ve helped you out? James wracks his tired and anxious brain. A cup of tea is the only thing that jumps out to him. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

“I’d love to, but I can’t,” Alison says, and James is surprised to find that she sounds sincere. “Mike and I are looking after our niece for the weekend and I need to get back.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” he says quickly. She smiles at him again. 

“I hope you feel better. I’ll see you Monday?”

He nods, and watches her drive down the road and disappear around the corner before fishing his keys from his pocket and unlocking the front door. 

***

“Hi, love. Thanks for sending the documents over! How come you’re calling so late?”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Straight in, okay. Let’s go with the good news.”

“I finally found the missing part for my A34 Comet model.”

“Oh God, what’s happened?”

“What?”

“That’s one of your least-favourite tanks. If the good news is that you found the tiny missing piece you haven’t cared about for the last four months, then I’m almost scared to hear the bad news.”

“...The car’s buggered.”

“As in ‘could probably do with a service’ or ‘utterly fucked’?”

“As in it’s going to cost us thousands of pounds to fix it.”

“Shit.”

“It refused to turn on when I was trying to leave work, and then it started smoking.”

“Please tell me our car has not blown up.”

“It has not.”

“That’s--”

“Well, not entirely.”

“Jesus Christ. Where is it now?”

“Still in the car park at work. None of the local garages are open. And the price of a tow truck out of hours!”

“How did you get home?”

“Alison drove me back.”

“That’s good. I hope you offered her a cup of tea at least.”

“I did. She declined, said she had to go. Something to do with her niece?”

“At least it’s Saturday tomorrow. Look, just… just take the money out of the savings account, go and get something decent. A little Ford or something.”

“I thought we weren’t touching that money?”

“You can’t go without a car for the next few months, James. At this point, it’ll be cheaper for you to buy a new car than pay for all the repairs.”

“Please tell me you at least had a better day than I did?”

“I did. I was fixing up the Jeeps, actually. And no, the irony is not lost on me. Was the rest of your day okay before the whole car palaver, at least?”

“Not really.”

“Oh I’m sorry, love. Are you alright? You sound really upset.”

“I was supposed to be home an hour ago, Anthony. I’ve not eaten anything, and I’m not even really hungry anymore, but I know I have to make something. I’ve missed the start of my documentary, which means it’s not even worth watching anymore. I just didn’t realise how utterly useless I am when things go wrong. I started crying right in the middle of the car park! And-and all because you weren’t here. That’s the first time I’ve not been able to call you when I needed you.”

“Love…”

“Just… don’t. I know it’s not your fault. I just… this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.”

“I can drive down if you want me to. I’ll invent some sort of excuse even the CO can’t argue with to get some emergency leave.”

“You don’t need to drive all the way down here because I can’t handle the stupid car breaking down.”

“I don’t like the idea of you being all on your own when you’re this upset.”

“I have to learn how to cope with this on my own for once. I can’t make you come running every time something goes wrong.”

“James, it’s not some great ordeal for me to look after you. I love you. I want you to be okay. And if that means driving down in the middle of the night to give you a hug because you need it, then I’ll happily do it.”

“You’re going to make me start crying again.”

“Seriously, I am this close to getting in the car.”

“...Do you think you’d be allowed to come down if you invented a good enough excuse?”

“As far as this CO knows, I have four living grandparents. One of them could easily have some sort of indeterminate medical episode. I can be home by midnight if I leave in the next hour. Just say the word and I’ll leave now.”

“…”

“James, love. Yes or no is all I need.”

“Please. I need you here.”

“Done. Granny just had a stroke, it’s touch-and-go.”

“Anthony! That’s terrible.”

“It’s terrible for Granny. I’ll let the CO know I’m going, and I’ll text you just before I leave, okay?”

“Thank you, darling. I love you.”

“Love you too. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

***

Sandhurst Military Academy, 2016

When James woke up, he was alone. 

For a moment he couldn’t help but panic. Ever since those first few weeks of Anthony’s recovery, where things had been somewhat touch and go, he’d hated falling asleep alone, always panicking that something had happened whilst he’d been sleeping. However, the ruffled sheets next to him and the fading warmth told him that Anthony had been here not too long ago. He glanced at the clock. It was just before seven in the morning.

Sunshine was starting to break through the curtains, illuminating the room. James looked around. There were boxes in one corner, unassembled and waiting to be filled with everything they owned. It was only a month until they were being restationed back to Lyneham, the very place where they had met fourteen years ago. Their placement at Sandhurst was only ever supposed to be a temporary measure anyway, whilst the superiors figured out what to do with Anthony and, by extension, himself. It was nice, though, to have some stability coming their way. The letter they had received had heavily implied that this placement was likely to be permanent until they retired, given the after-effects of the grenade blast injuries that Anthony was still working through. 

Today, though, they were still at Sandhurst, and that meant helping to train the new officers. James wasn’t sure if he was just getting older, but all of the recruits looked terribly young. Shaking his head, he made to get out of bed. 

At that moment, the door opened and in came Anthony. He was in shorts and a t-shirt, his cheeks tinged pink as he shut the door behind him. 

“Morning, love,” he said. Crossing the room, he flopped onto the bed, landing half on top of James. 

“Where have you been?”

“Went for a run. I woke up at like five this morning and I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I did a few laps of camp.” 

“You need a shower,” James told him, and relished the feeling of Anthony laughing against his neck. He could feel Anthony’s hand on his knee, tapping out a rhythm. 

“No I don’t.”

“You do. You’re all… sweaty.”

“Do you mean my manly scent?”

“Manly as it may be, you need to go and shower anyway.”

“Okay, well how about this?” Anthony said. His hand was trailing up James’ thigh. “I will, as you so egregiously suggested, go for a shower. However, I expect you to join me within two minutes.”

“Is that a direct order, Major?”

“You are such a tease.”

Then Anthony’s lips were on his. James smiled, sitting up a little more and allowing his arms to wrap around his husband. These were the sort of mornings that made everything worth it. He’d take all of the arguments and the worry for mornings like this. Mornings like this had been even more frequent since Anthony’s injury. A new lease on life, he’d said when James had asked him, that made me realise I should appreciate you more. James certainly wasn’t complaining. 

“I’m not kidding,” he said between kisses. “You do need a shower.”

“And I’ll have one,” Anthony replied as he began to kiss along James’ neck. His fingers were fussing with the waistband of his pyjamas. James pulled him closer. They were both so absorbed in the situation (and the thought of the situation they would be in in the very near future) that neither of them quite heard the knock at the door. 

“Housekeeping!”

They flew apart as fast as physically possible. Anthony half-launched himself off the bed in his haste to move away, whilst James gathered up the sheets and pulled them up as high as they would go. The door was only just cracked open, thank God, but they could see the housekeeper just outside in the corridor. 

“Hiya, Selma, love,” Anthony called from the floor. He was sprawled on the carpet, partially propped up against the bedside cabinet. “Are you alright to come back later?”

“No problem, sir,” the housekeeper called, and closed the door. 

“Okay,” Anthony said with a heavy sigh after a minute or so of the two of them being frozen in place. He hauled himself up from the floor, crawling onto the bed and sitting cross-legged facing his husband. The mood had most definitely been ruined, as was evident from the crestfallen look on Anthony’s face and the downright sullen one on James’. “That is the third time this week.”

“And it’s only Wednesday,” James agreed miserably. 

“Either we need to start being more careful, or we need to do what we should have done years ago.”

“And that is?”

“We need to move out and get our own house.”

“A house?” James repeated. Anthony nodded.

“They said that this new assignment is going to be permanent, right?” he said. James nodded. “We don’t need anywhere too big. Two, maybe three bedrooms, so that we have spare rooms if anybody wants to come and stay. It’ll have to be relatively close to camp, of course.”

“No more than half an hour,” James said. 

“We’re going to be much closer to your sister and my parents as well. It’ll be nice to actually have somewhere they can come and stay if they want to visit us.”

“And I suppose we could still have a room on camp if we wanted to stay there sometimes,” James said. Anthony grinned. 

“See, you’re coming around to the idea, aren’t you?”

“What about the deposit?”

“Both of us have been saving our tour bonuses for years. You’ve still got your inheritance from your dad, right?”

“I’ve not touched it.”

“Exactly. All of that together, we should have more than enough for a deposit. I doubt we’ll have any issues getting a mortgage.”

No sooner had the idea been thought of was a plan being put into motion. James spent the rest of the day researching mortgage plans and checking their savings accounts, whilst Anthony trawled various house buying sites. They compared notes during lunch, and had quickly identified a few likely-looking candidates. 

“We’ve both got leave this weekend,” Anthony pointed out as they scrolled through house listings. “Why don’t we arrange some viewings and drive down?”

“This is moving very fast,” James said a little nervously, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“We don’t have to commit to buying anything right now,” Anthony said. 

“Is it really that big of a deal?”

“Three. Times.” 

Well, James couldn’t argue with that.

The weekend rolled around far too quickly. They’d booked three house viewings for Saturday, all within a half-hour drive of the base at Lyneham. After work on Friday, they had bundled into the bust-up Jeep and driven the hour and a half to Oxford to spend the night with Anthony’s parents. 

“I can’t believe you’re finally buying a house,” Mrs Havers exclaimed as they sat in the lounge, sharing a bottle of red wine that they had brought with them. Reaching over, she pinched Anthony’s cheeks. “And here I was thinking you’d live on base forever!”

“Mum!” Anthony complained as he dodged his mother’s affection, but the smile on his face was giving away how happy he was feeling. 

“You must be excited, James,” Mr Havers said. James, who had been focusing on mapping out the routes between the different houses in his head, looked at him in surprise.

“Um… yes, sir,” he replied. 

Excitement was not how James would describe his feelings towards the possibility of buying a house. Trepidation, maybe. Terror felt like a more accurate descriptor. He’d already looked at each house multiple times online. He’d studied the floor plans, researched the survey histories and the price hikes over the years. It all seemed very complicated. It was far more complicated than living on base, where you simply showed up and they handed you the keys to a room. Not only that, but this decision, if they went through with it, was going to cost them hundreds of thousands of pounds. 

Luckily, the subject of the house was quickly dropped when Anthony’s sister arrived with her children. Sophie, now twelve, was not interested in talking to her uncles and sat on her phone whilst James and Anthony spent the rest of the evening entertaining Maeve, Nancy and Henry with dramatic reconstructions of their greatest battles--all imaginary battles, of course. It was a welcome distraction, and James found himself going to bed with a smile on his face.

The next morning did not put a smile on his face. They woke up late, meaning that they barely had time to get dressed before they were rushing out of the house to make the hour and a half drive to Malmesbury. 

The first house was a bust. It was far too small and far too expensive. They barely looked at it for twenty minutes before turning to each other and agreeing that this was not the one. The second house wasn’t much better. It was bigger, but a strange smell hung around the house, one that put both of them on edge. 

“Do you think we’ll get a military discount?” Anthony asked, scrolling through his phone as they drove through the town towards the next house. James shrugged a little as he waited at the junction. 

“Do mortgage brokers do military discounts?” he asked. 

“I mean, we can ask.”

The traffic moved, and they rounded the corner onto a small street. “It’s that one there,” Anthony said, peering out of the windscreen and pointing at the house at the end of the road. 

The cottage was quaint. It reminded James of the houses described in the sort of storybooks he had read as a small child. When he looked at his husband, he was grinning. 

That grin stayed on Anthony’s face as the estate agent gave them a tour of the house. If anything, it got wider. Even James had to admit that it had everything they were looking for. A large kitchen, a cosy sitting room with an open fireplace, three bedrooms, and a large garden. At the end of the garden was an outhouse with a home office and what the estate agent described as a hobby room. 

“It’s nice,” James said. 

“You finally have somewhere for your tanks!” Anthony exclaimed as he turned on his heel, taking the room in. When he turned back to James, his grin was the widest it had been all day. “James, it’s perfect.”

“Are you sure?” James said. He started to chew the inside of his cheek. Whilst yes, it would be nice to have a place for his tanks, was this really the right place for them? “I-I mean the bathroom…”

There were a thousand questions running through his head. How long would the place take to clean? What were they going to eat without the mess there? Neither of them could cook very well. Would the place get too hot, too cold? What if by some fluke they ended up back on tour, would they have to pay somebody to look after the house? 

Anthony’s hands on his cheeks brought him back to reality. Without realising, his breathing has gotten far too quick and his vision was swimming. 

“Babe, hey,” Anthony said, his voice soft and concerned. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m here, I’m right here.”

“We can’t move out of the barracks,” James said. His words were rushed, coming out all in one breath. “We can’t cook. Neither of us now how to clean properly. If we move, we won’t cope. I won’t cope. We-we won’t have the alarms or the noisy neighbours--”

“You hate our current neighbours.”

“But they’re there! We’ve always had terrible neighbours. We-we-we can’t change our entire life because we want to sleep together without being interrupted!” 

“Okay,” Anthony said. He moved one hand to rest on James’ arm, rubbing up and down. “Okay. This is a huge decision, I know. We don’t have to make it right now.”

“Heads up, guys,” the estate agent said as he poked his head around the door. He was holding his hand over his phone. “I’ve just spoken to the couple who were here before you, they’re going to put an offer in. If you want this place, you better get in quick.”

And he was gone again. James turned back to Anthony, his eyes wide. 

“If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to,” Anthony said. 

“But you want to,” James replied, gesturing to the room. “I saw the way you looked at this place.”

“It’s not just my money and it’s not just my life we’re talking about here.”

“Anthony. Do you want to live here?”

Anthony thought for a moment. He looked around the room, a wistful look on his face. 

“I do,” he said. 

James looked around the room. It was almost as though he could see the tanks sitting around the room. Maybe the home office could be converted into something they would actually use. And they could learn to cook. Maybe they could hire a cleaner, if things got really bad. “James?” Anthony said. “Talk to me, love.”

“Do you think the tanks would fit?” he asked, and relished in Anthony’s smile.

Chapter Text

“Hi darling. Quick question, were we ever this useless as recruits? I had to stop a young man from putting his hand inside a running engine today. Yes, shockingly you do have to turn the helicopter off before you start fixing it! They’re lovely, but this lot wouldn’t have managed in our time. God, I sound old. Looking forward to speaking to you later. I love you.”

***

“It’s mandatory training day!” Humphrey announces in the morning.

Everybody in the office groans. Mandatory training day rolls around once a year. It’s never on the same day, and always comes with no noise and no warning. The day will pass by at a snail’s pace, a haze of informational videos and training documents to read and sign. Nobody enjoys it, and James believes that it is quite possibly the worst day of the year.

The only good thing about mandatory training day is that Humphrey, recognising that nobody has a good time on this day, lets them use the company credit card to order in lunch. After nearly four hours filled with badly-shot videos filled with Z-list actors down on their luck teaching them about how to avoid various scams, they’ve decided on sandwiches, cakes and pastries from a fancy cafe in town. 

“Do they have anything like this in the army?” Kitty asks. She’s ignored the sandwiches in favour of the pastries. James pauses in picking the tomatoes out of his sandwich. 

“Not particularly,” he says. “It’s more integrated into basic and specialist training.”

“What’s basic training like?” Kitty says.

James digs through his memory. His basic training had been a long time ago, and he’s sure from what Anthony has told him that it is rather different these days. 

“Back in my day, it was essentially your sergeant shouting at you for six weeks whilst you did various obstacle courses,” he replies. He shrugs a little, taking the last tomato from his sandwich and placing it carefully on the napkin next to his plate. “I think it’s rather different now.”

“What about the specialist training?” Pat asks as he comes over to join their table. His plate is what can only be described as a sea of beige. 

“That’s where it gets interesting,” James says. He leans forward a little. “It depends on what regiment and specialty you’ve chosen, of course. You’ll be stationed at the corresponding base, and you’ll spend anywhere from a few weeks to a year training for your specialty.”

“Who does the training?” Alison says. She’s wandered over now, having clearly been eavesdropping on them, with Mike lagging behind her. 

“Usually higher-ranking officers,” James replies. “Those who are closer to retirement or not quite suited to fully active duty anymore.”

“So is that what Anthony does now?” Pat asks. The question is quiet, almost unassuming, but James still clocks it. The questions have been slowing down recently, with less and less being asked with each week that passes. Whilst before they had been thought out and often asked by the entire office, they are now becoming more casual, almost throwaway in nature. James isn’t sure which he prefers. 

“Yes, he does,” he tells them, deciding to shelve the thought for now. “He’s particularly skilled with tanks. That’s why they asked him to train the recruits up in Yorkshire.”

To be honest, he’s hoping that the mention of Yorkshire will send Pat on a tangent about how incredible the county is, which will inevitably coax Julian over to begin an argument over the merits of North vs South, so that he can stop answering questions and finally eat his lunch before they have to go back to the horror that is the mandatory training. 

This does not happen. The small group simply nods, and are clearly looking for more information. He doesn’t exactly know what else to tell them. Does he explain to them how the training works in detail? Does he tell them exactly what Anthony does in the lessons he teaches to the recruits? Maybe he should just show them a photograph of him to finally get them off his back. 

What would Anthony say in this situation? His husband is far better at this than him, and were he here, he would know exactly what to say. He would also know exactly what not to say. James finds himself a little stuck, unsure of what to share and what to keep to himself. 

Clearly he’s been quiet for too long, as when he zones back into the conversation, they are talking about the training videos. 

“I don’t know how that Brian bloke still has a job,” Pat is saying. “This morning, we’ve seen him clink the links on multiple phishing emails, leave his work laptop unlocked in a coffee shop and have the financial documents stolen, and email confidential project details to someone masquerading as a rival company.”

“The fake email wasn’t even that good,” Alison agrees. “Like, if it had been a decent fake, I maybe could have forgiven him.”

James tries not to sink down in his seat as he takes a bite of his sandwich. He knows for a fact that he has been caught out on some of the test phishing emails that IT sends, and he knows that Mike also knows this when he glances at him. Mike, to his credit, does not say anything, although he seems more focused on his lunch than the conversation. 

This, James realises as the group continues to chat, feels very much like being in the mess hall. Normally it is rare for everybody in the office to take their lunch at the same time, and they also tend to all spend their lunch break differently. Alison usually goes and has lunch with Mike when he’s in the office, and if he isn’t then she eats in her own office. The others either eat in the break room or at their desks, depending on how much work they have that day. James always takes his lunch break at 1230, and sometimes eats in his car, especially if he is going to call Anthony during his break. Today, though, they are all squashed into the break room, helping themselves to the mountain of food that has been ordered and chatting about anything on their minds.

It’s… well, it’s nice. James misses the mess hall rather a lot these days. Even if it is just for one day, he can’t deny that he is enjoying this. He’s almost finished his sandwich now, and the group have moved on from insulting poor old terrible-with-technology Brian to betting on how many affairs are going on in the office in the videos.

“Four. Those two who were by the printer in the first phishing email video were almost certainly having an affair,” James says when there’s a break in the conversation, and can’t help but relish in the debate that it starts up. 

***

“Hello, my love.”

“Hello, Anthony.”

“God, it’s been a day. I’m genuinely starting to question whether the standards for recruits are slipping.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing in particular. They’d have never survived in our day, though. When I was in basic, I remember a load of us went out into town one night. I got back at like five in the morning, and I think I slept about an hour? Our sergeant knew we’d been out, so he got us up at six on the dot and made us run laps of camp. Well, the curry and the booze from the night before kicked in, and before you know it I’m bent double, throwing up everything I’ve ever eaten into the bushes. All my sergeant said was ‘see, Havers is putting in the right amount of effort’ and told me to keep going.” 

“Yes, we had something similar.”

“You’d never be allowed to do that today.” 

“How are the recruits?”

“Like I said, they’re a lovely lot. Very chatty. Some of them are brilliant with the vehicles. I watched this young girl, barely eighteen, coax a Jeep engine I’ve been struggling with all week into working yesterday.”

“She’ll do well. Those Jeeps are buggers for breaking down.”

“Oh, it was like watching something out of a film. If I were straight and, you know, not married, I think I’d have proposed right then and there.”

“Charming!”

“I did say if I wasn’t already married, love.”

“Hm. You’re on thin ice.”

“Anyway. It’s getting quiet here. I think a lot of the recruits are going on leave next week.”

“Do you think you’ll have any chance of getting the same leave?”

“Ha ha. Funny joke. You know I haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell. I’m on maintenance all of next week.”

“This CO does not like you, does he?”

“I think he’s homophobic.”

“You can’t claim that everyone who doesn’t like you is homophobic.”

“I can and I will.”

“You’re in a dramatic mood tonight.”

“I’m about ready to come home, love. I’ve had enough of being up here now.”

“You’ve not got too long left. You’ll be home soon.”

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

MOD Lyneham, 2016

“Anthony, they are children.”

“They’re not children, they’re all over eighteen. I think.”

“Look at them! There’s no way that one’s eighteen, look at his beard. When did they start letting recruits have beards?”

“Come on, it’s one class. It’s tank weaponry.”

“Why are they getting you to teach that? You don’t know anything about the weaponry side of things.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told them. They told me to figure it out.”

“They’re still children.”

Anthony and James were standing outside the lecture hall, and had been having this particular conversation for five minutes. They had propped the door open a little, and were looking at the group of recruits who were scattered across the room. There were around fifty or so of them, all looking, in James’ opinion, far too young to be there. Had he looked that young when he was a recruit? He pushed the thought from his mind as he looked back to his husband.

“Babe, I’m begging you,” Anthony said, turning away from where he’d been looking into the lecture hall. “It’s just an hour. You could do way more than an hour on tank weaponry. Plus, they can’t leave.”

“Is this supposed to be convincing me?”

“Please?”

James turned to look at him. He’d been about to refuse, to tell his husband that no, he could figure this out himself, but Anthony was giving him that begging look that he found so difficult to say no to. He sighed, closing his eyes and looking to the ceiling. “I’ll make it worth your while,” Anthony said. 

“I will say no to you one day,” James grumbled. Anthony’s face lit up, and he gave his husband a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“I owe you,” he said. 

“Is there anything I need to cover?”

“Babe, literally say whatever you want. Hell, talk about the very first tank weapons if you want to. You’ve got an hour. Have fun.”

The talk went well, or at least James thought that it had. Anthony had introduced him not as his husband, but as a weapons expert. He’d been a little nervous, but once he’d gotten started, it had almost been hard to stop, even when the hour was up. He’d been vaguely aware of some whispering amongst the recruits, but he didn’t think anything of it until they got into the mess that evening. Upon them entering the room, everyone turned to look at them and, after a moment, burst out laughing. 

“Alright, out with it!” Anthony said good-naturedly after a moment. “What have we done?”

“Well, according to the kids,” Brendan, one of the recovery mechanics, said as he came forward, grinning at them. “You two are married.”

“Well--”

“To women.”

The room erupted into laughter again as James and Anthony stared at Brendan. 

“I’m sorry?” James managed to say. 

“There’s apparently a betting ring amongst the recruits,” Brendan continued. “About how long you two have been having an affair, and whether or not your wives know.”

“We’ve been here for three days,” Anthony groaned, pulling a chair out from the nearest table and collapsing down onto it. 

“It’s a new record,” Brendan said. “Even I made it a week before I got any rumours spreading about me.”

“How did you even hear about this?” Anthony said as James sat down next to him. Brendan took the seat opposite them. The room was starting to lose interest now, settling back into their previous conversations. 

“Mark over there supervises the junior ranks’ mealtimes,” Brendan said. He gestured to a man on the other side of the room, who waved at them. “And he said that you two were the topic of conversation during dinner. Some eagle-eyed recruit spotted your wedding rings, and, well… anybody who watches you two for more than a couple of minutes knows you’re madly in love with each other. It wasn’t a huge leap for them.”

“I don’t know what to be more offended about,” Anthony said after a moment. “The fact that they think I’m having an affair, or the fact that they think I’m straight.”

“Have they conveniently forgotten that gay marriage is legal?” James asked. Brendan shrugged a little. 

“I’m as surprised as you two are,” he said. “Thought you’d want to know, though, in case one of the recruits is brave enough to say something.”

The conversation was dropped after this in favour of dinner. It wasn’t until later that night, when they were getting ready for bed, that it was brought up again. 

“What do we do about this recruit thing, then?” Anthony asked. He was in the shower, whilst James was digging through the bathroom cabinet for his razor. 

“You should just tell them,” he replied. “Set them straight.”

Anthony snorted then. The shower turned off, and then Anthony’s head poked around the shower curtain. 

“Pass that towel?” he said. James did so. “No, we can’t just tell them. That’s no fun.” 

“You clearly already have an idea,” James said, arching an eyebrow. Having located the razor he grabbed it, shutting the cabinet door. 

“No, babe, just shave in the morning,” Anthony said as he emerged from the shower. “And yes, I do.”

“If it involves Louise and Anne, I’m vetoing it immediately.”

Louise and Anne were the lesbians who had the room three doors down from then. Anthony rolled his eyes then, nudging James out of the way a little so that he could peer at himself in the mirror. 

“God, it’s getting further back every day,” he murmured as he pulled his damp hair back. He looked at his husband. “Is it worse?”

“Stop fussing.”

“Says you, with a full head of hair.”

“Yes, and I was fully grey by the time I turned forty. Be careful what you wish for.”

“Anyway, the recruits. What are we doing?”

James sighed heavily as he placed the razor on the edge of the sink. He turned to Anthony. 

“I’m letting you decide,” he said. Anthony’s eyes widened. “Full creative control. Just tell me what to do and when to do it.”

Frowning at him, Anthony reached forward and began to feel along his face. James watched him curiously, and couldn’t help but laugh a little. 

“Sorry,” Anthony said as he drew back. “I was just checking that my husband hadn’t been replaced by an imposter.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know. Can you meet me outside the lecture hall just before lunch tomorrow?”

“Do I get to know what you’re planning?”

“No.” Grinning, Anthony leaned forward and kissed him quickly. “Right, go and pick something for us to watch. I’ll be through in a couple of minutes.”

When the next morning rolled around, James felt a little apprehensive. As they got ready for the day, Anthony still refused to tell him his plan, and disappeared just after breakfast. He ran through his morning checklist in the armoury in record time, and found himself dithering for the rest of the morning. At 1130, Anthony texted him and told him to meet him outside of the lecture theatre.  

He made it across camp in record time, and found himself standing outside the lecture hall. Anthony was already waiting for him. 

“What’s happening?” James asked as he stopped just in front of his husband. Anthony grinned, nudging the door open to show all of the recruits gathered in the lecture hall. Clearly they thought they were safe, as they were all whispering furiously. 

“They think I’m letting them have a break,” Anthony said as he peered into the lecture hall. “They’ve been gossiping about us for five minutes.”

“Oh?”

“Well, one of them saw us heading into the mess hall together, so now they’re trying to work out whether our wives live on-base or somewhere locally.”

“You’ve been with them all morning. How have they not figured it out yet?”

“It’s a miracle. Or a curse, depending on how you look at it.”

They both looked into the lecture hall again. The recruits seemed to have noticed that the door was open and so they both jumped back out of sight. They glanced at each other, and both quickly started smiling. 

“What do you need me to do?” James asked after a moment. 

“Not much,” Anthony said. “Just poke your head around the door, alright? I’ll handle the rest.”

“What are you--” James started to say, but Anthony slipped back into the lecture hall before he could finish the question. 

James sighed, staring at the closed door. Well, there wasn’t much else for him to do now. He had to trust whatever mad idea his husband had come up with. Shaking his head, he silently cursed himself and poked his head around the door. 

Instantly he regretted going along with this mystery plan when every recruit turned and stared at him. He tried not to shrink back, glancing at Anthony. His husband was doing a very good job of pretending to be shocked to see him. 

“Captain Hutchins!” he exclaimed. That was weird enough in itself. It had been many years since Anthony had referred to him like that. “Do you need me?”

Oh, he was using that voice that made James blush. He looked down, biting his tongue before looking back up and glaring at his husband. 

“Um… no,” he said after a moment. “No, er, wrong… room?”

The recruits were glancing at each other. James knew he wasn’t being very convincing. Improv had never particularly been his strong suit. 

“You sure?” Anthony asked. “I just thought that after last--”

“We’re married!”

He’d shouted it before he even realised that he was going to say anything. Stepping into the room, he looked at the recruits. “We’re married,” he repeated. “Me and Anthony, we’re married.” He turned to his husband. “Please tell them we’re married.”

“Love, you couldn’t have held it together for another couple of minutes?” Anthony said fondly. The recruits were staring again, their mouths hanging open. Anthony turned from his husband in order to look at them all. “An important lesson for your time in the British Army. Gossip never stays where you want it to stay.” 

“Sir?” one of the recruits said, gingerly raising her hand. Anthony nodded at her. “How did you find out?”

“What, about the betting?” Anthony asked. There was a moment, and then the group of recruits nodded sheepishly. “That’s not important. Now, what have we learned?”

“Don’t gossip about commanding officers,” the room mumbled after a moment.

“Oh, no,” Anthony said. He flashed James a cheeky smile. “Just don’t gossip about commanding officers in the vicinity of their friends.”

Chapter Text

“James Arthur Montgomery Hutchins, you will pick up your phone right now. You cannot just say that you had “a little bit of chest pain last night”, not follow up and then not answer my bloody calls! Do you remember what happened last time you said that? Because I bloody do. Call your cardiologist and get an appointment, or so help me God I am calling your sister and telling her what really happened to her precious vase. Call me back.”

***

When James wakes up, he feels wretched.

Last night was the same. His chest had been aching, not in a dangerous way but in a way that told him a cold was coming. He’d taken a couple of paracetamol and hoped that that would be enough to stave off the illness. Despite this foolproof plan, he’s woken up with a stuffy nose, a sore throat, and a harsh cough. 

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling with barely muted fury. This is not the time to get sick. The quarterly reports are due at work, and they are all rushed off their feet trying to get them completed before the deadline on Friday. He grabs his phone from the nightstand. Anthony has already texted to say good morning, which means he must have a busy day if he’s up this early. He replies quickly, telling Anthony that his chest hurt last night. His head is all fuzzy. 

The duvet is inviting, but work is more pressing. It takes him a few tries to get out of bed and he shuffles downstairs to the kitchen, coughing as he goes. He barely manages a cup of tea and half a slice of toast before admitting defeat and heading back upstairs to get dressed. 

It’s nearly 0930 when he reaches the office, a far cry from his usual punctuality. He doesn’t greet anyone, not even Kitty, as he drags himself to his desk. 

“Woah,” Pat says. He sounds concerned. “Uh, hey, Cap.”

“Good morning,” James grunts, his voice hoarse. He starts to head towards the kitchen, hoping another cup of tea will cure him, but Robin jumps in front of him. 

“No you don’t!” Julian shouts from his desk. “You’re not infecting all of us.”

“I’m fine,” James protests. His argument is not proven when he quickly devolves into a coughing fit. Julian leans back even further. Robin, the prick, laughs at him. 

“Look, maybe you should go home, mate,” Pat says. 

“I said I’m fine,” James says. When he glances to his desk, he sees that his phone keeps lighting up. 

“Good morning, guys!” Alison calls as she comes bounding into the office. James tries to take the moment to dodge into the kitchen but Robin is too fast, jumping into his path and growling at him. “I’ve just had an email from head office. Apparently we’ve done so well this quarter that they’re sending us on a team bonding day. I wanted to know if you guys have any suggestions for where we could go?”

“Theme park!” Kitty immediately answers. There is a chatter of agreement around the room. 

“Yes, I think that would be most satisfactory,” Fanny, much to everyone’s surprise, says. 

“Like you’d even go on anything!” Julian chortles. Fanny glares at him. 

“I’ll have you know that I have a season pass for Thorpe Park,” she says.

“C’mon, Alton Towers all the way!” Pat exclaims. Then, in a smaller voice, he adds, “as long as we don’t have to go on the scary rides.” 

The others all chime in then, giving their opinions on different rides or parks. Robin gets sucked into the conversation when somebody claims that Nemesis Inferno at Thorpe Park is better than the original Nemesis at Alton Towers, which finally allows James to get into the kitchen and make his elusive cup of tea. It isn’t as good as he imagines. 

“What about you, Captain?” Alison calls over. He’s leaning against the counter, trying to ignore his aching head and blocked-up ears in favour of sipping his tea. 

“Oh, I can’t,” he says before he can stop himself. This cold is making him forget himself. “Weak heart.”

The chatter quietens. They all turn to him then, and he’s too tired and stuffy to really care anymore. Alison’s eyes widen. 

“Cap, you look awful,” she says. 

“I’m--” he starts to reply, but Thomas cuts him off.

“Yes, yes, we know, you’re fine,” he says. “What did you say?”

“I have a weak heart?” James replies, nonplussed. “I’m sure my doctor said something about not going on rollercoasters when she was going through risk factors.”

His phone is still buzzing on his desk. Walking over, he grabs it. Anthony. There’s three voicemails, twenty-four messages, and nearly as many miscalls from him. Shit, he thinks. 

“Is that why you left the army?” Pat asks, pulling his attention away from the phone. James nods.

“I was discharged after I had a heart attack.”

“Captain, I’m so sorry,” Alison murmurs. 

“It’s fine,” he says. 

“But you’re okay now?” Kitty asks. She looks upset, as if he’s about to collapse right in front of her. He smiles at her.

“Yes, Katherine. I’m fine.” 

“How did Anthony deal with it?” Fanny says. He shrugs a little, glancing at her.

“It was difficult,” he admits. This cold must be doing something to his head. He really needs to call Anthony back. “But we managed.”

“We can go somewhere else,” Alison says then, as if she senses how uncomfortable he is. James shakes his head. It makes his vision swim a little. 

“No, no,” he says. He tries to suppress a cough. “No, you all want to go. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Speakings of positive,” Mary pipes up. She points to James. “He be infected!”

“You really should go home,” Pat says. James shakes his head again. 

“I’ll be fine once I start working,” he says, and sits down at his desk. The others exchange a look, but nobody says anything to him. He switches on the computer, and prays he makes it to the end of the day. 

***

“You have got to be kidding me.” 

“Anthony…”

“Now he deigns to call me! Not eight hours ago, not after I left him a voicemail and about seven billion messages, oh no.”

“Anthony, I’m fine.”

“I thought something had happened, James. You wouldn’t pick up your phone, and-and you said your chest hurt! Do you know how it felt to be sitting here all day, waiting for some hospital to call me to tell me you were--”

“I’m not. I’m fine, I’ve probably just got that cold that’s been going around the office. Alison sent me home at lunchtime because I was coughing so much. I was going to call you when I got back, but I fell right to sleep the moment I got here.”

“I still think you should call Dr Amari, get an appointment. I know it’s probably nothing, but… just in case, you know?” 

“It really is nothing, darling.”

“Please, James. For me.”

“...Very well. I will call in the morning.”

“And if anything else happens tonight, if the pain gets worse, you’ll--”

“Go to A&E, I know.”

“Thank you.”

***

MOD Lyneham, 2016

“Anthony, go!” 

Anthony was standing in the doorway of their room on-base, his hands on his hips as he frowned at his partner. James was in the process of pulling everything out of their bits-and-bobs drawer, a slightly frazzled look on his face as he did so. 

“James, it’s fine,” Anthony said. “Just let me help you look.”

“We’re already late,” James replied, looking up from the drawer as he pulled out a number of takeaway menus and threw them onto the counter. 

“Exactly, we’re already late. It won’t matter if I’m another ten minutes or so.”

“It will. Please just go. I’ll find my tie, and I’ll be there before you know it.”

Sighing, Anthony glanced at the clock. The drinks reception for the mess do had begun almost fifteen minutes ago, and he really was supposed to be there as the guest of honour. Of course, life had other plans for them. During the move, James had somehow misplaced the tie for his mess uniform, hence why he was now artfully reorganising every drawer in the room. 

“Are you sure?” Anthony finally said after a moment. Somewhat distracted by the jumble of wires which was now emerging from the drawer, James nodded. Then, he winced, and raised one hand to rub his chest. Anthony’s brow furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” James said with a grimace. “Probably just heartburn.”

“It’ll be that sandwich you had this morning.”

“Stop stalling and go!” Triumphant, James grinned and held up his other hand, which was clutching his tie. “I’ll be ten minutes behind you.” 

Coming forward, Anthony pulled James towards him and kissed him. He felt his partner grin against his lips. “Go!” James chuckled as they broke apart. Rolling his eyes, Anthony nodded and finally left the room, shutting the door with a small click behind him. 

The moment that the door was shut and James was alone, he sagged down onto the side, allowing himself to rub his chest more vigorously. The ache was deep-seated, too sharp to ignore and yet too dull for him to concern Anthony with. It had been bothering him all day, but he’d been doing his best to ignore it. All he had to do was get through tonight, and then if it was still bothering him tomorrow, he’d take a trip to the med centre and get checked out. Right now, being there to support Anthony was the most important thing. 

He tied his tie quickly, and spent a quick few moments ensuring that his outfit was up to scratch. It wouldn’t do well to show up in a new mess hall with his uniform all askew, would it? His chest was continuing to bother him with short, sharp bursts of pain as he made his way out of the door and made sure to shut it tightly. 

The mess bar wasn’t too far from their room, and James rushed down the stairs, flying through the corridor. He could hear the other officers chatting and laughing through the double doors. Anthony would already be there, sharing jokes and stories with the others on the base. He’d always been better at that sort of thing, anyway. Whenever James tried to mingle at these things, he seemed to end up on long tangents about World War Two tanks or the merits of a certain type of screwdriver when repairing a L7A2 General Purpose Machine Gun, and even with the other REME lot that only took you so far. Anthony knew about small talk, how to ask about people’s families and somehow look genuinely interested in the resulting rambling answer. It was a skill James was sometimes a little jealous of.

Reaching the double doors, he paused to look down and check his watch. Only twenty-five minutes late. Sighing, he glanced to the ceiling for a moment. The heavy feeling in his chest tightened for a moment before releasing again. 

“Into battle,” he murmured, and pushed the door open. 

The decorations were leaving much to be desired, but the room was full to bursting. All of a sudden, James was more than aware that he was one of the lowest ranks there. He stopped as the door swung shut behind him, scanning the room. It seemed that every officer on the base and more had shown up. Where was Anthony? His wedding ring felt cool under his fingers as he fussed with it. Was that Anthony? No, he wasn’t tall enough. Was he? No, definitely not. Where had his husband disappeared to? His chest was still hurting. 

Ah, yes, there he was, talking to a man that James vaguely recognised as being the QM of the base by the looks of it. He’d been about to call over when Anthony looked up and noticed him. His husband smiled at him, raising his hand slightly before being pulled back into his conversation. Tutting under his breath, James shook his hands out and began to make his way across the room. 

“I don’t believe it!” 

Oh, he knew that voice. He wished that he didn’t, but he did. That was the voice of a man who had been the bane of his life for three years. It was the voice of a man who had once complained about having to go out in a storm to free a tank which had gotten stuck and contained not only valuable material, but four personnel, all because he didn’t want to get his uniform wet. It was the voice of a man who, no matter how much he had tried to, James just did not like. 

“Cartwright,” he said through gritted teeth, forcing his mouth into an approximation of a smile as he turned to his right. Sure enough, there was Cartwright. He was wearing that smug look that had permanently lived on his face for as long as James had known him, and he was holding a drink so strong that James could smell it from three feet away. “How are you?”

“I knew that Havers was coming here, but I had no idea you would be as well,” Cartwright said, breezing past the greeting with ease. James felt his chest clench. He looked across the room again. Anthony was still talking to the QM. “Are you two still having your… fling, then?”

“We’ve been married for two years, it’s hardly a fling,” James replied, his voice sharp. The ache in his chest was growing again, crawling across his ribs and up towards his shoulders. Cartwright laughed, an obnoxious laugh that almost hurt to hear. James clenched his jaw. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Anthony attempting to end his conversation. James knew that he himself would very much like to end this conversation. He tried to move to the side, lose Cartwright and escape into the crowd, but he was blocked by somebody making a beeline for the bar. Suppressing a sigh, he stepped back. 

“So you’re here now, then? Still not been promoted, I see,” Cartwright was now saying. There was an almost cruel smile on his face. James narrowed his eyes. He could feel his heart rate picking up. His chest was hurting even worse than before. Where the bally hell was Anthony? 

“Not yet.”

“And such a shame about what happened to Havers. We were all so upset when we heard. How is he doing?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

The ache in his chest was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and his throat was starting to get tight. He could feel himself sweating, and reached up to pull at his collar. He wanted to call out to Anthony, get him to finally end his blasted conversation and get over here so he could escape before he punched Cartwright in front of everyone, but the inane rules of social niceties forced him to keep his mouth shut. 

“Well, I haven’t been able to get a word in edgewise with him,” Cartwright said. His grin somehow grew even wider. “But you? Well… we both know that Havers was always the more popular one in your little pairing.”

Whilst Cartwright wasn’t technically wrong, it still stung. James frowned, glancing back over to Anthony. Good, it looked like his conversation was finally over and he was starting to head in his direction. He tugged at his collar again. Why was his chest hurting so much? 

“I…” he tried to say, but the words stuck in his throat. 

“I’m honestly surprised the two of you are still together! I’d have thought by now…”

Pain exploded in his chest. He was vaguely aware that Cartwright was still talking, but it was like everything was muted, drowned out by his own hammering heartbeat. Letting out a low groan, he screwed his eyes shut and put his hand to his chest. His knees were weak, his legs shaking as he stumbled forward. 

He heard someone call his name, but he couldn’t work out who it was. It wasn’t just his chest anymore, everything was throbbing with the same blinding pain. Someone called his name again. Anthony. Was he coming? He dropped onto one knee, the pain beginning to get the better of him. This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t heartburn. This was something serious, he could tell. Was it bad?

He could feel arms around his shoulders, easing him to the ground. The touch was familiar. Anthony. Words were starting to filter through, Anthony telling people to move, to fetch a medic. He opened his eyes. His vision was swimming, but he could see Anthony hovering above him. Why did he look so worried? 

“I… I…” he tried to say, but the words were sticking again. Anthony smiled softly at him, reaching up and resting his hand on James’ cheek. 

“I know,” he said. Then he looked up, frowning at somebody James couldn’t see. “Where’s the damn medic!?” 

His heartbeat was getting louder, louder, louder. The pain was reaching a crescendo. Oh, this was bad. It was very, very bad. He looked at Anthony again. They’d been lucky so far, hadn’t they? On all accounts, Anthony should have died when that grenade exploded, but something or someone had given them another year together. It would be okay. Anthony would be okay. 

His eyes still on Anthony, he listened as his own heartbeat got slower, slower, slower… and stopped. 

For a moment, everything was black. It was silent, void of anything at all. He tried to move, to look around, but found that he couldn’t. Was this it? Was this all there was? If so, it was going to be rather boring. He strained, trying to hear something, anything. Nothing. 

Then, light exploded in his vision, and he was back in the mess bar. 

Except, he wasn’t in his body. It was as if he was floating above it, disembodied, watching the scene. And a chaotic scene it was. People were rushing around, shouting, screaming. Some were running in and out of the room. In the middle of all of it was himself, still on the floor. Somebody he didn’t recognise was giving him CPR. Someone else was shouting out of the double doors, telling somebody to call an ambulance. 

Anthony. He was sitting next to him, silent. He was holding his hand. There were tears streaming down his face. He went to speak, to say Anthony’s name, but nothing came out. He looked back to the man doing CPR again. He was doing a good job, but he wasn’t sure if it was going to work. 

“James, please,” he heard Anthony say. His voice was cracking, barely audible. 

“Got the defibrillator!” someone else shouted as they rushed into the room, holding said defibrillator aloft before practically sliding onto the floor to put it next to the man doing CPR. 

He’d seen others undergo defibrillation, but it was something else to see it happen to your own body. It was almost violent, the way the body jerked up as the shock ran through it. Anthony clearly thought the same, and kept looking away, closing his eyes, with each shock. 

The odds were low, he knew that. They’d taught them in some first aid course years ago that CPR had something like an 8% success rate in the field. But as he looked at Anthony, really studied him and let the memories of them flood through him, he also knew something else. They had spent their entire relationship defying the odds, defeating the chances, moving heaven and the earth to be together. 

 “Clear!” 

They could come back from this. He could come back from this. He strained, tried to move, but something was anchoring him in place. He looked at Anthony again. He was staring at the floor, one hand on the floor and the other over his mouth as he silently sobbed.

“Clear!”

He was coming back. For Anthony, he would come back. They would be the miracle couple, one surviving a grenade blast and the other surviving a freak heart attack. Granted, the first was a little more dramatic, but they’ll have both survived and that was the important thing. He pulled again. He was able to move a little more, move towards his own body. 

“Clear!” 

When he pulled this time, it was like the invisible cord holding him back had snapped. He tumbled forward, falling from the ceiling towards his body. It was a rushing feeling, like jumping from a high tower and just hoping that the bungee cord you’re attached to doesn’t break. 

“We’ve got a pulse!” 

Then he became one with his body again, and the blackness was all that was left.

Chapter Text

“Hi James. Look… I’m sorry for shouting last night. I was just scared. I came so close to losing you last time you… Ugh, I’m sorry. You don’t need me crying down the phone at you. Thank you for getting that appointment with the cardiologist. I promise I wasn’t really going to call your sister. Look, call me after you’ve seen the doctor, okay? I want any news, good or bad. If you need me to come home, just say the word and I’ll be there. I love you so much. I’ll call you again later.”

***

James has been standing outside of Alison’s office for nearly ten minutes. If his record is anything to go by, it’ll be at least another twenty before he admits defeat. 

He stayed home for two days before he’d gotten too restless and returned to work. He still isn’t one hundred percent, but there’s no way he can keep sitting around the house alone, doing nothing. He’s loaded up on paracetamol and is staying away from the others so that he doesn’t get any of them sick. 

At Anthony’s request, he has gotten an appointment with his cardiologist. It’s why he needs to talk to Alison, actually. The earliest appointment is tomorrow afternoon, and he needs to check that she’s okay with him leaving work early. He’s sure that she’ll be fine with it, but he won’t feel at ease unless he makes sure. 

He glances at his watch. It’s been twelve minutes now. Alison is still on the phone. How long does one phone call take? Suppressing a sigh, he glances at his shoes. Maybe this is a useless endeavour. Maybe he can just send an email and be done with it. 

“Cap? You okay?”

It’s Alison, calling to him through the door. He jumps a little and looks up. Alison is holding her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece, smiling and gesturing at him to come in. He does so, closing the door behind him. 

“Alison,” he starts, then frowns at the noises coming from the phone. “If you’re busy on a call, I can wait.”

“Oh, no,” Alison says, waving her free hand. She reaches over and puts the phone onto mute, placing the handpiece face up on the desk. “It’s just Barclay.”

“Beg-Chetwynde?”

“Yeah! Do you know him?”

“Horrible man,” James sniffs. He remembers Beg-Chetwynde from when the man had visited the office during his first few weeks there. He’s high-up in the company, and he is utterly obnoxious. He and Julian would likely get on very well, James thinks. Alison laughs at his statement. 

“How can I help you?” she asks. 

“I, ah… I need to leave early tomorrow,” he says. He doesn’t know why, but he’s suddenly nervous. In the entire time he’s worked at Button House, he’s never left early. In fact, he’s hardly ever had a day off. It’s a habit from the army, he supposes. Leave is strictly regulated, as Anthony’s current predicaments are proving, and it would be unheard of to simply march up to your CO and tell them that you were leaving early. That would earn you a disciplinary, or at the very least a few laps around camp. 

Alison does not do this. Instead, she smiles at him again and nods.

“Yeah, of course,” she says. “Do you mind if I ask why? It’s not an issue at all, just so I know what to put into the email to Humphrey.”

Humphrey, of course. James feels a little stupid. HR would of course be the correct people to contact here. Has he bothered Alison for nothing? 

“It’s for a doctor’s appointment,” he tells her. She frowns a little then, her eyebrows furrowing. 

“Everything okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s just Anthony worrying.”

There’s something about Alison. For someone so young, she really does know how to deal with them all. During her tenure, Julian has become somewhat less awful. Robin, it seems, has actually started doing some work. The office is more productive than ever, and they’re all somewhat more harmonious. Personally, James finds her very easy to talk to. If she does ask questions, she isn’t obtrusive about it. He trusts her not to dig too deeply into anything he says about Anthony, and to know when to stop asking. 

“Mike’s the same with me,” she says. “I had a head injury a few years ago,” she explains when James raises an eyebrow. “I fell out of a window.”

“You fell out of a window?” James repeats. Alison nods, and pulls back her hair to show a small scar on her forehead. 

“I was leaning out of the second-story window and lost my balance. Mike said I nearly died. Now every time I have a headache, he wants to rush me off to a neurologist.”

“Anthony’s much the same,” James says. “I can hardly have a cold without him panicking.”

“It’s just because they love us, I guess,” Alison says. She glances at the photo of her and Mike on her desk, a photograph of them at a party by the looks of it, and smiles. 

“I suppose that’s true,” James concedes. He thinks back to Anthony’s injury, how worried he had been, how he had been the one who had forced Anthony to speak to the psychiatrist in the first place when his husband had stalwartly refused. 

“Well don’t worry about tomorrow,” Alison says after a moment. “You’ve got loads of holiday left, if you’d rather just take the whole day off?”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “Thank you, Alison.”

She smiles at him, but quickly has a look of dread on her face when she unmutes the phone whilst he slips back out to his desk. 

***

“What did Dr Amari say?”

“Hello to you too!”

“Sorry, sorry. Hi babe. What did she say?”

“I’m fine.”

“Did she do any tests? An ECG?”

“She took some blood. The ECG was normal. She said it’s the most normal one I’ve ever had.”

“None of those ST elevation thingies?”

“Transient ST-segment elevations. No, nothing. Perfectly normal ECG.”

“What does she think it was, then?”

“She agrees with my assessment that it was just a cold.”

“Good. That’s a relief.”

“I could have told you all of that myself, you know.”

“I know, I’d just rather have the confirmation.”

“She did say that I’m due for an echo. And that we need to do a medication review.”

“Have you still got the nitro for if it gets bad?”

“I have.”

“Sorry, I know you hate all the questions. This is why I like coming to the appointments. I can annoy Dr Amari, not you.”

“She still wants me to get into some sort of study.”

“She did say that it’s unusual for Prinzmetal’s to cause cardiac arrest. Could it be worth going for it?”

“It’ll involve lots of unnecessary medical tests.”

“I know, but… don’t worry about it, we can talk about it another time. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I had to go through a cold without decongestants, Anthony.”

“I know, love, and I’m very sorry.”

“Right, I have to go to the pharmacy and pick up my prescription. Could I call you back when I get home?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Thank you for going and seeing Dr Amari, though. I know you didn’t want to.”

“It’s fine. I felt better for going in the end.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Go on, get to the pharmacy. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

***

Great Western Hospital Swindon, 2016

James didn’t really remember waking up for the first time. Or the second or third time, for that matter. There were broken memories, fragments of time held within a sedated haze somewhere deep in his mind, but whenever he tried to grasp them they slipped away. There was a memory of a tube in his throat, of the beeping and hissing of machines, but it was faint, almost like some sort of terrible dream. 

When he woke up for the fourth time, it was slowly. There wasn’t a tube anymore. The machines were still there, still audible, but they were muted. His eyelids felt heavy, as though they were weighed down. His chest still hurt. 

“James?” someone was calling. It wasn’t a voice he recognised. He tried to blink, but even that tiny movement was difficult. His limbs felt as though they were made of lead. “James, I need you to open your eyes.”

I’m trying!, he wanted to scream. His throat was sore. Trying to take a deep breath, only to find that it hurt, he tried to open his eyes.

This time, he managed to open them slightly. Bright light flooded in and he shut them again, turning his head to the side with some effort. Someone murmured something, and what little light was filtering through his eyelids dimmed. 

“...and he’s my husband!”

Was that Anthony? God, he sounded angry. Energy renewed, he tried to open his eyes again. This time, the dimmed light didn’t hurt quite so much, and he managed to keep them open. There was a nurse on either side of him, and they were smiling at him. 

“Welcome back,” one of them said, his voice soft. 

“You’re in ICU,” the other said. She was the person from before, James vaguely recognised. He tried to turn his head, to look for where Anthony’s voice was coming from, but his body wouldn’t obey. “You gave us all quite a scare for a while there.”

There was a rush in the direction of where James presumed the door of the ward was, and the nurses both turned to look. James would have too, if his head would just move, damn it. He settled for looking in the general direction of the commotion. There was a curtain blocking his view. 

“Mr Havers, you can’t just rush in!” somebody was saying. 

“It’s Major Havers, and they said my husband’s waking up,” Anthony shouted back. James felt something settle deep in his stomach. Anthony was here. That was good. “It’s been over a week, and I promised him I would be here when he woke up!”

“At least give me your bag,” the first voice said, sounding frustrated. “And stop shouting.”

“...Right. Sorry.”

Anthony sounded embarrassed, James thought as he listened to the rustling. Then there were footsteps. One of the nurses stepped out. James could feel his eyelids growing heavy again. There was a moment, and then the curtain pulled back and he saw Anthony. 

He was in fatigues and his boots, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Had he just come from work? What time was it? He was so tired… 

“James,” Anthony said. 

James opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Anthony gave him a wobbly smile as he came forward, sitting in the seat next to the bed. He reached out, putting his hand on James’ head and beginning to fuss with his hair. “You idiot,” he murmured. “What were you thinking, having a bloody heart attack?”

“I didn’t mean to,” James croaked. It took a moment to get the words out and they were somewhat slurred, his voice hoarse, but they were recognisable. Anthony laughed then as a tear ran down his cheek. 

“I know you didn’t,” he said. “God, am I glad to see you.”

The exhaustion was getting the better of him. He could feel his eyes sliding closed again. Focusing on Anthony, he tried to smile at him. Whether he succeeded or not, he did not know. 

The next time he woke up was mildly more successful. Anthony was already there for one, although he was once again in his uniform and was curled up, asleep, on the chair next to the bed. His throat was a little less sore, and he didn’t feel as though every part of his body was weighed down. 

“Good evening,” a nurse, someone he once again didn’t recognise, said gently as he opened his eyes. “I’m Nora, one of the nurses. Can I do some checks?”

With some effort, James nodded. He kept his eye on Anthony as she checked his pupils, heart rate, and fiddled with some of the machines. Had he been sleeping properly? Had his nightmares come back?

“I…” he started to say, but his voice seemed to fail him. Pain flared in his ribs and he winced, raising his hand to them. 

“Your ribs will probably be sore for a while,” Nora said. “A couple got broken during the CPR you received. Do you remember what happened?”

“My heart,” he murmured. Nora nodded. 

“We had to put you in an induced coma for a little while, so your body had time to rest and heal,” she told him. “We think you had some sort of cardiac event, which triggered an arrest. We’re not sure what caused it yet.”

It was starting to come back to him. Losing his tie. The mess bar. Cartwright. That pain, that awful pain. Anthony above him. Watching as they tried to resuscitate him. How long had he been asleep for?

Speaking of asleep, Anthony was starting to stir. His nose was scrunching up in the way it did when he was trying not to wake up but was going to anyway. Sure enough, a moment later he opened his eyes. He looked around. When he noticed that James was awake, a smile broke onto his face and he leaned forward, taking his husband’s hand.

“Hey, you,” he said. James frowned at him.

“Nightmares?” he asked. Anthony laughed a little, squeezing his hand.

“This one,” he said to Nora before turning back to his husband. “I’m fine, James. Don’t focus on me. Focus on getting better.”

With each time that he woke up, James learned more and more. He’d been asleep for over a week, in an induced coma. Anthony’s compassionate leave had run out after a few days, given that he wasn’t actively dying anymore, hence why he was always in uniform. Anthony had apparently punched Cartwright when somebody told him what he’d been saying just before everything had happened, and somehow had escaped a disciplinary for it. 

He also learned that the army was thinking of discharging him. 

That filled him with more terror than the still-unknown heart condition did. The army had been his entire life since he was sixteen. He’d never known anything else. He didn’t know how to know about anything else. Whenever he tried to ask about it, Anthony would shut him down, try to distract him with some gossip from the base. It didn’t really work. Each day when Anthony disappeared off to work, James was left alone, with nothing to think about except the possibility of discharge. 

One day, around a week or so after he’d first woken up, he’d been sitting in bed reading a book about Hitler’s rise to power. He’d been moved onto a different ward, still high-dependency but not quite ICU. The book wasn’t as interesting as he’d first thought, and he kept glancing up at the door every time somebody walked in or out. He’d been about to put the book down and go back to sleep when somebody he recognised walked through the door. 

It was Jenkins. He’d been promoted to Major a couple of years after Anthony, and they’d served together out in Afghanistan for a couple of tours. He was a nice enough chap, quiet and soft-spoken but good in a crisis. He and Anthony had had a few good nights in the pub with Jenkins. Anthony had always said he’d trust him to deliver bad news.

“James,” Jenkins said as he reached the foot of the bed. 

“Sir,” James replied. “You’re not here for a social call.”

It was a statement rather than a question, but Jenkins still sighed heavily and shook his head. He gestured to the seat next to the bed, as if asking permission. James granted it by way of a nod. Jenkins came forward, sitting down.

“I wanted you to hear it from me, not somebody else,” he said after a moment. “Not from Anthony.”

“They’re discharging me, aren’t they?” James said. There was a moment. 

“Yes.”

“When did they decide?”

“This morning. We got word from High Command about an hour ago.”

James took a deep breath. It made his ribs hurt. He should have expected it, really. There wasn’t much coming back from a massive heart attack, certainly not in the army. It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, of course. No. This hurt more than almost anything else he’d ever experienced, and he was including the very recent heart attack in that. Where did he go from here? 

He could feel tears starting to form in the corner of his eyes but he forced himself to blink them away, looking towards the ceiling. Was this it, then? Thirty years, and what did he have to show for it? A few medals, a couple of qualifications, and not much else.

Well, he supposed that wasn’t entirely true. He did have Anthony. That was certainly worth something. God, how was Anthony? He must have heard alongside everyone else. Was he worried? Upset? 

There were a thousand questions swirling around his mind. What did he do now? Was there anything he could do now? Was this going to be his life, going in and out of hospitals with some mystery heart condition until he died?

“How’s Anthony?” he instead asked. Jenkins shrugged a little. 

“As well as can be expected,” he said. “He wanted to come and tell you himself. I wouldn’t let him.”

“Why not?”

“We both know what this news means to you. You didn’t need to be reminded of it whenever you looked at your husband. If you’re going to hate someone for telling you this, I’d rather you hate me.”

Anthony had been right, James thought. Jenkins really could be trusted to deliver bad news. 

“Thank you, sir,” he murmured. Jenkins gave him a small, sad smile. 

“I really am so sorry, James.”

He didn’t stay long after that. James found himself lying there, staring at the ceiling. His career was over. Gone. Down the drain. It was as if all of his emotions had numbed. When Anthony arrived, almost two hours after Jenkins had left, he was still staring at the ceiling. 

“James…” Anthony started, and then trailed off. James didn’t blame him, really. He wouldn’t know what to say either. Wordlessly, he moved across in the bed. There was a moment and then Anthony crawled in next to him. James shuffled over, resting his head on Anthony’s shoulder. Anthony rested his arm across James’ shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” James murmured. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Babe...”

“I can’t. If I start thinking about it too much…” he trailed off. Anthony looked up at him.

“What do you need?”

“Just sit here with me until I go to sleep. Please.”

And that was just what Anthony did.

Chapter Text

“Hello again love. Barry wanted to say he misses you. Can you hear him? He’s not shut up all day. Oh, but he did piss on the CO! I had to try my hardest not to laugh in the man’s face whilst I was ‘apologising’! We did always say he was a good judge of character, even if he was terrible at sniffing out bombs. We both miss and love you, darling.” 

***

James is a man with a set routine. It’s one of things he had always enjoyed about the army. In the army you know where you’re going, what you’re doing, and who you’re working with at any point in time. It’s one of things he missed the most when he’d been discharged. He’d been lost without a routine for a long time. The job has helped, but what has helped most of all is Barry. 

Barry is he and Anthony’s dog. He is a German Shepherd, a large, hulking dog who many might fear would be a risk to children or the elderly. He looks like he could bite you and take not just a chunk of flesh, but your entire soul. He looks like the sort of dog suited to sitting at the side of a mob boss. 

Barry is none of these things. Barry is, both James and Anthony have agreed, possibly one of the most stupid dogs to ever exist. Whilst he may look menacing at first, the permanent dopey grin on his face can quickly dissuade any notions of fear. When faced with any sort of threat, Barry will cower and hide his head in his paws. He can hardly find his ball when it is thrown for him, even when it is practically under his nose. 

James loves him almost as much as he loves Anthony. 

When Anthony had been given his assignment, there had been some debate over who would have custody of Barry for the six months. James would much rather Barry have stayed with him. They have their routine with their morning and afternoon walks, their TV time, their couple of hours in the park every Saturday. However, he eventually had to acquiesce to Anthony’s argument that James would be at work all day, whilst he could take Barry almost everywhere on camp with him. Reluctantly, James had agreed, and thus he has not seen his dog in over four months. 

One of the things he has missed most is him and Barry’s morning walk. It’s a good way to get settled in the day, to calm down and quiet his mind before going to the hectic office. Now, he has to settle for a cup of tea in the garden of the cottage before he leaves for work. 

Today is as hectic as ever in the office. Something has gone wrong in marketing, apparently, so Thomas is in full meltdown mode. The cock-up in marketing has caused some other issues in contract negotiation and customer service, so Julian and Mary are both swamped. Alison is maintaining a decent facade for now, but James can tell that she’s on the verge of a mental breakdown herself. The only upside is that hopefully nobody will start pestering him for details about Anthony today. 

He should know by now that nothing is ever guaranteed in this office. It’s around eleven. Thomas has already fled the office sobbing three times, and is gearing up for his fourth. Julian has sworn at his computer no less than seven times, and Mary has just slammed the phone down with such force that her entire desk shook. James winces at the sound, resisting the urge to put his hands over his ears. He’s so focused on not doing that that he misses Pat sidling up to his desk. 

“So, you and Anthony,” he starts. 

James can’t suppress the groan, leaning back in his chair. He fixes Pat with a glare, but takes the opportunity to take his eyes off of his computer screen for the first time that morning. 

“What do you want now?” he asks tiredly. 

“Oh, nothing major, mate!” Pat says. Reaching up, he adjusts his glasses and grins. “I was just wonderin’ if you guys had any pets?” 

Oh. Pets. This is actually an okay topic. It’s not too personal, and Barry is a wonderfully neutral topic that he’s used in many social situations before now. 

“Yes, we do,” he says, turning his seat fully away from his computer. Pat’s eyebrows raise, and James notices that others around the office, namely Kitty, Robin and Humphrey (whose head is slowly making its way around the corner), are starting to pay attention. “We have a dog, Barry.”

“Barry?” Pat repeats. Behind him, the others are looking at each other. 

“Yes, Barry,” James says, nonplussed. 

“Have you got a picture?”

He does, but he can’t think of one that doesn’t include Anthony. Whilst the office may know vaguely what he looks like now, they haven’t yet seen a photograph of him and James is not about to show one. He pauses for a moment, then shakes his head. Pat raises his eyebrows again. James furrows his. There’s a moment, then Pat shrugs. 

“What breed is he?” 

“He’s a German Shepherd. Does it matter?” 

“Okay, okay,” Pat chuckles, holding up the hand that isn’t holding his ‘Trust me, I’m a scout leader’ mug. “I’m just interested! When did you guys get Barry?”

“Two years ago,” James says. 

“Oh, he’s young, then?” Pat asks. 

“No, he’s got a few years on him,” James replies. Despite his best efforts, a small smile is growing on his face. He can’t quite stop himself from continuing to talk. “He was being retired from the K9 bomb squad, and Anthony and I thought that we could take him in.”

“So you met your dog and your husband in the army?” Julian calls as he wheels his way over to the middle of the office. Without James knowing, he has taken a break from swearing at his computer to tune into the conversation. James turns to him.

“So?”

“Just seems like a bit of a coincidence, that’s all,” Julian says with a shrug. 

“I spent thirty years in the army,” James tells him. “It’s hardly unusual that I’d meet people there.”

Julian shrugs, but doesn’t say anything else. The others seem to be getting bored too, starting to turn back to their computer screens. Pat gives him a smile, raises his mug, and heads back to his desk. 

James loses himself in his spreadsheets for the next hour and a half. When he looks up, he is surprised to find that the office is empty. A quick glance at the time makes him realise that yes, of course, it’s around time for lunch. Everyone is probably in the break room. Should he join them? He glances around again, and whilst the thought of a solitary lunch is lovely, he can already hear Anthony’s voice in his head telling him to “be more sociable, James, you spend every day with these people”. Sighing, he silently curses his husband and heads towards the break room. 

When he gets there, though, something makes him stop before he enters the break room. Inside, there is a heated conversation happening. He can hear the voices through the closed door. When he looks through the glass in the door, he can see that everyone is gathered around the small table in the room. They appear to be in a heated debate. Sides have formed. Julian, Robin, Pat, Thomas and Mary are on one side, whilst Alison, Kitty, and Fanny are on the other. Humphrey is sitting in the middle, clearly acting as an adjudicator. 

“Well, the dog thing was clearly a lie,” Julian is saying. Robin and Thomas are nodding vigorously, whilst Alison is rolling her eyes. 

“Why do you say that?” Alison replies. 

“Lots of people have dogs,” Kitty agrees. 

“Sure, but who calls their dog Barry?” Julian shoots back. James frowns then. Why are they talking about Barry? 

“It does sound like a fake name, you have to admit that,” Pat says then. He looks almost guilty, fussing with his glasses. 

“Okay, it’s an unusual name,” Alison acquiesces. “But he said that he’s an ex bomb dog, right? That means they probably didn’t get to name him.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Julian insists, leaning forward and gesturing like he used to on those old Newsnight clips. “Then you’ve got the fact that the dog is also, conveniently, ex-military?”

“He used to be in the army too!” Kitty exclaims. 

“It’s all too neat,” Thomas says. He looks at Julian again. “What did I say again? For the wager?”

“Five months,” Julian confirms. He grins. “You’re running out of time.”

“Why won’t he just admit it?” Pat groans. “I can’t cope with this much longer.”

“Probably because Anthony actually exists,” Alison says, but James isn’t listening anymore. 

They don’t think Anthony is real. All of them do not think that Anthony is real. And, apparently, they have a wager going on when he’ll crack and admit that he lied. It’s so ridiculous that it’s almost comical, and yet it also hurts. Do these people really think he’s so alone that he has to make up a partner and a dog? 

Lunch forgotten, he turns around and heads in the direction of the front door. He needs to call his husband. 

***

“Hiya, love! Sorry, I can’t speak long, I--”

“Anthony, I’m quitting.”

“Woah, okay, wait, slow down. This is a bit sudden.”

“I don’t care. I’m quitting, and I’m getting one of those stupid high-paying jobs I always said I hated where nobody knows each other and the offices are big and--”

“Right, what’s happened? You need to--no, sir, I can’t right now, it’s my husband--sorry, love, sorry.” 

“If you need to go…”

“I don’t. Ignore that. You need to actually tell me what’s going on.”

“Anthony, they don’t think you exist. They think I’m so alone and unloveable that I had to invent a husband to make myself feel better. Hell, they don’t even think our dog is real! And-and-and…”

“Okay, okay, calm down. Breathe, love.”

“I am breathing, Anthony!”

“Listen to me, alright? I’m sure it’s not as sinister as you think. You said they’ve been asking about me, right?”

“Yes. Probably because they’re also betting on me telling them that you’re not real.”

“Okay, wow. Uh, that is… a lot to unpack. Let’s come back to the whole betting thing later. What have you told them?”

“Off the top of my head? How long we’ve been together. What you do for work. How long we’ve been married. Nothing too much.”

“Have you ever shown them a photo of me?”

“No.”

“Have they asked for one?”

“Yes, but I don’t know why they needed to see it.”

“I’m guessing they asked you for a photo of Barry as well.”

“Well… yes, they did.” 

“And let me guess? You didn’t show them one.”

“You’re in all of them!”

“Love, please don’t shout at me when I say this…”

“What?” 

“If I was your co-worker, I wouldn’t think I existed either.”

“Anthony!”

“Think about it this way, love. You’ve worked there for over a year, yet this is the first time you mention being married. When asked, you refuse to show a photo of me. When they ask for, and let’s be honest here, pretty basic information, you don’t really tell them anything. And now, when you’re asked for a photo of your dog, something most people would show without even being asked, you won’t show them. I sort of see where they’re coming from.” 

“But the betting?”

“Yeah, that’s a bit more unusual. From what you’ve told me, though, I’ll bet it was Julian.”

“...I think it was.” 

“Exactly. Where are you now?”

“I’m in the smoking shelter outside.”

“James, you better not be actually smoking.”

“I’m not, dear. There’s not a shop anywhere near here to buy any, anyway.”

“Don’t you dare start smoking again. Do I have to drive down there and hide all your old lighters?” 

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good. Right, so are we still quitting?”

“...No.”

“Are you going to tell them that you now know that they think I’m not real?”

“Also no, I rather think.”

“James, what are you planning?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Okay. Well, when you do figure it out--shit, love, I’ve got to go. The CO looks like he’s about to blow his top. Talk to you later?”

“Yes, alright. I love you.”

“Love you--yes, yes, I’m coming! Love you too, bye.”

***

MOD Lyneham, 2017

“James, come on.”

Anthony was leaning against the door frame of the main bedroom in the cottage. He looked rather frustrated, his arms folded across his chest and his brow furrowed as he frowned at his husband. Said husband was sitting on the bed, dressed in smart chinos, an olive green jumper, and his old military boots, wearing a grumpy expression and looking somewhat like a particularly bloody-minded toddler, albeit a smartly dressed one. 

“I’m not going,” he said, only adding to the general aura of pissed-off-child which he had been exuding all morning. 

“Dr Amari said last week that you’ve been cleared for light exercise,” Anthony told him. He uncrossed his arms, pushing himself from the door frame and coming further into the room. “So far, the only exercise I’ve seen you do is walk between the kitchen, the living room and the bathroom.” 

“I walked around the garden yesterday,” James argued. Anthony rolled his eyes at that as he came over and sat next to his husband on the bed. 

“That doesn’t count and you know it,” he said. James grumbled in such a way that it told Anthony that he did, in fact, think that it counted. “Come on. Just come to camp with me today. If it’s too much, I’ll drive you home.”

“No.”

“Everyone really wants to see you, love.”

“I said no.”

Anthony sighed, reaching up to rub his forehead. It was time to play the ace card. 

“The QM said that they got some old Bren guns in from a private donor.” Instantly, James gave his interest away by dropping the grumpy act for a moment, looking up at Anthony with bright eyes before he regressed back into his sullen expression. “They need cleaning up before they can go on display. He said you’re welcome to take a look at them.”

“Well…” James said after a moment. He was looking pensive, glancing around the room. “I suppose I might be up to coming in for a short while.”

“How about we make a deal?” Anthony said. There was a moment, and then James nodded. “Stay until lunch at the very least. If you absolutely hate it or you’re feeling worn out by then, I’ll bring you home, no questions asked.”

“And the Bren guns are definitely there?” 

“Do you want to see the text the QM sent me?”

James thought for a minute, then shook his head. He sighed heavily, shaking his arms out a little. 

“Fine,” he said. “But only until lunchtime.”

That was six hours ago. It was now nearly half past two in the afternoon and James was sitting in the camp’s armoury, cleaning out the third Bren gun of the hefty pile that had been donated. 

At first it had been a little jarring to be walking back onto camp. The last time he’d been here, his heart had literally stopped and he’d been rushed out in an ambulance. Nobody had quite expected him to walk back in six months later, almost entirely healed. As such, many people had approached he and Anthony as they walked into camp, extending their well wishes and congratulations. Being congratulated on not dying was a strange experience, but James wasn’t sure he disliked it. He did dislike not being in uniform on camp, though. 

“Where d’you think they came from?” Gareth, the gruff-voiced head of the armoury, asked him as he continued to clean out his own gun at the bench to the right of James. He gestured to the pile of uncleaned guns between them. James shrugged a little. 

“Private collection, perhaps?” he said. Gareth snorted. 

“Nobody has a private collection this big.” He nodded sagely, as if he knew something James didn’t. “I bet some kid’s been robbing ‘em from the posh knobs that live round here, only to realise that Bren guns don’t fetch much these days. Probably dropped ‘em at the Guardroom and hoped for the best.”

“That’s a rather cynical assessment,” James remarked, raising an eyebrow as he set the gun down gently on the table. Gareth shook his head and laughed. 

“Not with the way kids are these days. You and Ant don’t have any, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“You planning on it?”

The look on James’ face was enough to give away his thoughts on the matter. Gareth let out a large, booming laugh, reaching over and clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t blame you! God knows I love my daughter, but that girl will be the end of me one of these days.” 

Gareth grew quiet all of a sudden then, looking down at the gun he was cleaning. James watched him, furrowing his brow as he tried to figure out what, if anything, he was supposed to be saying. 

“Sir?” he settled on saying after a few moments. 

“We’re all glad you didn’t… you know,” Gareth said. He looked somewhat uncomfortable, focusing entirely on the gun in front of him. James blinked at him. Others he had expected this from, and had been unsurprised when he received it. Gareth, though? Gareth wasn’t serious. Gareth was never serious, not like this. “You’re a good mate.”

“Thank you?” James managed to say after a minute or so. Gareth nodded, still not meeting his eye. 

“And you’re good to Ant. You’re good to each other, really. Jus’ glad you’re still here, that’s all.”

“So am I.”

They stayed silent, both unsure of what to say. Thankfully, just as Gareth was opening his mouth to say something else, there was a soft knock at the door before it swung open and Anthony came in. 

“Just me!” he said. Both James and Gareth let out sighs of relief, quickly turning to look at Anthony. “Having fun, love?”

“The man said you’ve been feeding him rabbit food, Ant,” Gareth exclaimed before James had a chance to answer. Anthony rolled his eyes. 

“He had a heart attack, Gareth. So what if we’re eating a little better?”

“Nonsense. Get the poor man a bacon sandwich, he’ll be right as rain.” 

Anthony laughed, coming forward and putting a gentle hand on James’ shoulder. 

“Can I persuade you to abandon your guns for a minute?” he said. James frowned. “Come on, it won’t take long. I need to grab a couple of bits from the room and I could use the company.”

“Gareth,” James called. Gareth hummed in response, looking up from where he’d re-focused on cleaning. James gestured to the gun on the workbench. “You’ll make sure nobody touches her until I get back?”

“I’ll guard her like she’s my wife on a night out,” Gareth said. James and Anthony both laughed, bid him farewell, and set out towards their room. 

They were chatting idly as they walked along the edge of the parade ground, discussing what they would have for dinner that night, when they were interrupted by a loud bark. James paused in advocating for toad in the hole (with onion gravy and proper mash with butter and milk) in order to look in the direction of said bark. Running towards them, his lead trailing behind him and his tongue lolling from his mouth, was a large German Shepherd. Shortly behind the dog, a frazzled-looking young man was running after him. 

The dog came to a stop when he reached them. He looked up at them curiously for a moment before he popped himself down on the path, pricked his ears up, and began to pant. 

“Sorry, sirs!” the young man, a sergeant, they now realised, gasped out as he skidded to a halt just behind the dog. He grabbed the lead, winding it one, two, three times around his arms and gripping it tightly. “He’s not very good at doing what he’s told!” 

“Who’s this?” Anthony asked. James was watching the dog, who had inched forward and was butting his nose against his hand, warily. 

“This is Barry, sir,” the sergeant said. The pair looked at him strangely. The sergeant laughed, nodding. “I know. Unusual name.”

“Is he yours?” James asked. The sergeant shook his head. 

“No, sir. He’s part of the K9 bomb unit. Or at least, he is for now.”

“What do you mean?” Anthony said. Shrugging a little, the sergeant reached down and scratched Barry’s ear. 

“Well, sir, if you couldn’t already tell, he’s not very obedient. Tends to have a mind of his own. And, well… he’s not very good at finding bombs, either. There’s talk that they’re going to retire him early.”

“What will happen to him?” James said. 

“Not sure. He’ll probably go to the Dog’s Trust.”

“Not many people are in the market for an ex bomb dog,” Anthony remarked. He kept glancing at James, who was now somewhat nervously allowing Barry to sniff his hand, expectantly. 

“That’s unless somebody here chooses to adopt him, sir.”

At that moment, something caught Barry’s eye, and James’ hand was no longer the most interesting thing. He was off like a shot down the path, pulling the young sergeant along behind him. The pair watched them go. 

“Don’t even say it,” James said. 

“You don’t know what I was going to say!” Anthony protested. James gave him a look. 

“You want the dog.”

There was a moment.

“Did you see him?” Anthony said, cracking immediately. “The way he looked at you…”

“It’s a dog, Anthony. They look at everyone like that.”

“But you heard him! They’re going to send him to the Dog’s Trust.”

“Where I’m sure somebody will give him a good home.”

They stood side-by-side, watching as Barry carried on around the parade square, having now slowed to a gentle trot next to the worn-out looking sergeant. He was, James had to admit, a good-looking dog. Reliable. Sturdy. He glanced at Anthony. He had that lovesick look on his face, his eyes fixed on Barry. Damn, he thought. “A trial period,” he said through gritted teeth. The grin that broke onto Anthony’s face made it almost, almost worth letting him get his way. “Two weeks. If he’s too much, then he goes.”

“Of course,” Anthony said quickly. The smile on his face and the way he was practically vibrating, however, were giving away his excitement. 

“I mean it. Two weeks. And you’re walking him.”

“Of course I am,” Anthony said placatingly, and kissed him on the cheek.

Chapter Text

“Love, if you go to the shooting range this week, can you please find Martin and tell him I miss him? This CO gets worse and worse by the day. Who thought I’d ever be missing Martin!? At least there’s not long to go now. Call me later!”

***

“I surrender! I surrender!” Pat squeals, holding up his hands. 

James lowers the paintball gun carefully. His training tells him not to bring his guard entirely down until the enemy is in custody. Looking at Pat, however, covered in paint and halfway to sobbing with his gun abandoned on the floor next to him, he is starting to realise that he probably isn’t in any danger here. 

Paintballing, he’s come to discover, is actually rather fun. They’d done a paintballing day as an office before Julian or Alison had joined them, and James, who had been forced to go along by his husband, had found himself enjoying it very much. He’d told Anthony to suggest it for the recruits, as a safe way to learn how to handle active fire. Anthony had laughed and said that he’d talk to someone about it. 

“Very well,” he sighs, dropping the gun down and gesturing to the ‘out’ area just outside of the arena. “Join the others.”

They’ve been playing for all of fifteen minutes, and James has already picked off most of the group. Alison, Mike, Humphrey, Robin, Thomas, Mary, and now Pat are sitting around, covered in paint and looking slightly haunted as they sip lukewarm tea from styrofoam cups. Fanny, who has refused outright to play, is watching them all and pretending that she isn’t enjoying herself. Right now, he only has to get Kitty and Julian and he’ll have won. 

God, it’s going to feel good when he shoots Julian. 

Checking his ammo quickly, he disappears back into the arena. It’s pitiful, really, with predictable corners and hiding spots. That’s how he’s found most of them. He’s been using the foliage at the edge of the arena to conceal himself. He was able to pick off Humphrey from a distance, and only really got better from there. 

He sticks to the wall, listening out for any rustling or voices. Nothing. He glances around. Julian is nowhere to be seen. He suppresses a sigh as he maps the arena in his head. 

A noise to his right makes him turn. He points his gun, his finger on the trigger. There’s movement, just a flash of it, but it tells him that someone is there. Smiling, he creeps forward. He’s nearly there, ready to pull the trigger, when…

“Oh, please don’t shoot! It hurts!”

“Katherine?” he murmurs, lowering the gun. She’s crouched on the floor, looking as if she wants to cry. She’s covered in pink paint. 

“My gun exploded all over me!” she cries. Resisting the urge to shush her, he crouches with some difficulty next to her. “And Julian keeps trying to find me.”

“Don’t you worry about him,” James assures her. “You stick with me, Katherine.”

He rises again, wincing as his knees crack. She scrambles up from the floor, instantly cowering behind him. If what she says is true and Julian is stalking her, then he won’t be far behind them. He gestures for Kitty to join him as he rushes for the edge of the arena, diving behind a low wall almost half-covered by bushes. Kitty follows him. 

“Is it safe here?” she whispers. 

“Absolutely,” James assures her. He’s scanning the arena, watching for any signs of movement. There’s a rustling in the east end, but it’s not enough for it to be Julian. He dismisses it. The west side seems safe. So that must mean…

“Hands up!”

Slowly, he turns. Sure enough, Julian is standing over them. He’s grinning, his gun aimed at James’ chest. “Who would win?” Julian preens as James slowly begins to raise his hands. “The soldier or the politician? I’m a betting man. I’d have probably gone for the soldier. But this is what people get wrong about politicians. You know, they say that soldiers fight the wars, but really--”

James grabs his gun and shoots Julian in the chest.

Julian yells, stumbling back. He looks down at the green splatter on his chest before looking back to James, a betrayed look on his face. “I had you!” he wails.

“You talked too much,” James says as he rises from the floor, brushing himself down. He offers Kitty a hand, and she takes it gleefully. “That’s the difference between soldiers and politicians. We know when to shut up and shoot.”

Julian doesn’t really want to talk after that. He stalks back to the group, grumbling the whole way. James follows him, and is greeted with a round of applause.

“Remind me to call you for my nephew’s birthday party,” Pat says around ten minutes later, when they’ve all relocated to the cafe on-site. James is the only one not covered in paint, and he’s sipping a cup of tea. “I got decimated last year. Could do with you on my team!”

“How are you still that good?” Julian commiserates. He’s enjoying a coffee which he has spiked with the flask hidden in his bag, but still looks somewhat miserable. James shrugs a little.

“It’s not a skill you forget,” he says. “But I still go to the firing range regularly.”

“There’s one up near the base here, right?” Alison says. He nods. 

“Is that where Anthony’s stationed?” Thomas asks. 

“Usually, yes,” James replies. 

“Does he get you access to the firing range?” Fanny says.

“Not always. I’ve known many of the people there for a long time.”

“Do theys ever go paintballing?” Mary asks. James laughs a little and shakes his head. 

“I have suggested it,” he tells them. “It would be a fantastic training exercise.”

He picks up the paintball gun, which is still sitting next to him. The rest of the group leans back a little. “It’s unloaded,” he says. It doesn’t seem to put them at ease. “These paintballing guns may look rather similar, but they are rather different from a real gun. The lack of recoil would perhaps make them unsuitable for training.”

“Are guns scary?” Kitty asks. Her voice is small. 

“Not when you know how they work,” he says, trying to give her a reassuring smile. “We only use guns in a very controlled environment around camp and on the firing range. They’re extremely regulated, and you’re unlikely to ever see one in-person.”

It seems to have put her at ease, as she’s smiling again. The others are smiling too. He’s still not used to having all of this attention on him. 

“Well,” Pat says. “We’re doing teams next time.”

“I want Captain!” Robin shouts, and starts off an argument that James just knows, as he leans back and watches them all, is going to last for a while. 

***

“Hello, Anthony dearest.”

“Hi. Do you know what today is?”

“What?”

“It’s officially just three weeks until I’m home.”

“But you’re not home for another seven weeks. I have it marked on the calendar.”

“That’s the end of the assignment, yeah.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“I finally got some leave!” 

“How?”

“I went above the CO’s head. I called Martin last night, told him that I’ve done nearly five months with no leave at all, apart from that one day of emergency leave. He was furious. Next thing I know, I’m being called into the CO’s office, and he said I can have the weekend off in three weeks’ time.” 

“How did Martin manage that?”

“I have no idea, but I might well kiss the man when I see him.”

“Not if I beat you to it. You’re coming home!”

“I’m coming home, love.”

“I love you so much.”

“Don’t start, please. If you do, I’m going to start crying, and then you’ll start crying, and then where would we be?”

“We’ll have to make plans. Go for a meal, do something.”

“I’d be more than happy to spend the entire weekend at home with you.”

“You are bringing Barry with you, aren’t you?”

“You’re more excited to see Barry than you are to see me.”

“I’m not. The levels are equal.”

“I wouldn’t worry, babe, he’s excited to see you too!”

“I’m glad you’re coming home. The house feels empty without you here.”

“Stop, seriously. God, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“You wait until I get home. We’re going to be lucky to be leaving that bedroom.”

“I sincerely hope you are not in public right now.”

“I’ll shout it from the bloody rooftops.”

“Just three weeks now. Do you think you can manage three weeks?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“You’re a fiend.”

“Okay, yeah, we have got to stop now. Barry’s looking at me funny.”

“I’m not surprised. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Call me later, okay?”

“What are you planning?”

“Now that is for me to know and you to find out.”

“Keep your secrets. I’ll call you later. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

***

MOD Lyneham, 2018

Saturdays were quiet at the shooting range. During the week it was usually filled with recruits fumbling with guns for the first time. On the weekends, though, it was almost deserted. This was when James, with the blessing of the QM, would go along and spend a very pleasant morning testing out a number of weapons. 

“I still remember the first time I fired a Bren gun,” he was saying to the QM. Martin was in his mid-fifties, the sort of man whose entire life revolved around the army. He was, allegedly, married, although nobody had ever seen his elusive wife. He was nearing retirement, although the prevailing thought on camp was that he’d stay up until they physically removed him, whether that be in a wheelchair or in a coffin. Currently they were lying on their stomachs behind a small concrete wall, surveying the targets. “I hit a seagull. Feathers everywhere. I, ah, still feel bad about it, actually.”

“You’ve told me before that you were eight when you did that,” Martin said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well… yes.”

Martin laughed a little, shaking his head. James glared at him, but the expression didn’t last long. It really had been a lot of feathers, though. 

“How’s life on civvy street treating you?” Martin asked.

Ah. Suddenly, the reason why Anthony had almost pushed him out of the door this morning was becoming clear. He’d started his new job just last week. It was an office job, a standard nine-to-five, and currently he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Anthony had tried to ask how it was going, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. 

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, focusing on the target in front of him. 

“Bit different, eh?”

“I suppose.”

“Anthony said you haven’t really spoken about it with him.”

“Did he?” 

“He also said you haven’t touched your tanks since you started there.”

Anthony and his big mouth. James pursed his lips, staring at the target and hoping that it would explode under his gaze. This was why Anthony had organised this, then, in the hope that he would say something to Martin and then Martin would tell him. Why couldn’t he just be allowed to shoot guns for a morning? 

“Come on,” Martin said, turning onto his side to look at him. “It can’t be that bad.”

“There’s no meal times,” James said. This, he reasoned, was the quickest way to get to actually shooting some guns. Anthony was going to keep pushing or asking more people to ask him, and Martin was as good a person as any to talk to about it. They were very similar in many ways, he and Martin. If anything, Martin would probably understand better than Anthony would. “One of them went for lunch at eleven-thirty on Wednesday. Eleven-thirty! One of them, Robin, he doesn’t even do any work. I still haven’t figured out the dress code, as nobody seems to be able to give me a straight answer about it. There’s no schedule, simply a list of tasks and a vague deadline.”

“Have you spoken to any of them?” Martin asked. James shook his head.

“Only to introduce myself.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Martin,” James said. He finally looked away from the target. “I hate it. You know as well as I do that I never had a plan for after the army. Hell, I never thought I’d end up in early retirement.” 

“Then why did you take the job?” Martin asked. James shrugged a little.

“It’s been almost two years now,” he said. “I couldn’t keep sitting around the house, earning no money and contributing nothing. It wasn’t fair on Anthony.”

“I don’t think Anthony minded too much,” Martin said. He had turned back to look towards the targets. “He said that he told you that you didn’t have to work.”

“Yes, well, Anthony would say that, wouldn’t he?” James sighed frustratedly. “Ever since this thing with my heart, he hardly likes me leaving the house on my own. I can’t so much as have a cough without him wanting to cart me off to the doctor.”

“Let’s be fair to Anthony here,” Martin reasoned. James glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “It wasn’t exactly just a ‘thing’, was it? Your heart actually stopped. You were clinically dead for a good two minutes.” 

“I don’t see what this has to do with the job.”

“It has everything to do with the job. You said it yourself, you hate it, but I can already tell that you won’t quit.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re trying to prove a point to your husband.”

“What--”

“You’re trying to prove to him that you’re fine.” 

James wanted to glare at him, he really did, but as he continued to stare at the target, he was acutely aware that Martin was, in fact, right, however frustrating that may have been. The last two years had been strange ones, possibly the strangest of his life. Between the month or so he had spent in hospital following the heart attack, quitting smoking under both the doctor’s and Anthony’s insistence, and navigating an existence outside of the army rather a number of years too early, James had hardly known what to do with himself. Anthony had been wonderful, really, but also somewhat frustrating. James supposed that he had been the same to his husband following his injury. 

“Did he tell you that I quit smoking for him?” he said instead. Martin laughed. 

“You were in an induced coma for the worst week of cravings! It hardly counts.”

“Oh, well you tell that to my ever-growing collection of nicotine patches.”

“Come on,” Martin said then, hauling himself up from the ground. James followed a moment after with a small groan. “Let’s fetch the guns.”

The rest of the morning went by more as James had expected. They tested out a number of guns, destroyed a number of targets, and traded stories of various tours and deployments. Lunchtime rolled around rather quickly, and Martin had to disappear to deal with some planning for an exercise next week. 

Anthony met him in the mess hall. He was chatting to somebody James didn’t quite recognise, but looked up when he came in and grinned at him. James wasn’t entirely sure if he was annoyed at him or not yet. 

“Hey babe,” Anthony said as he reached him. “Good morning?”

“I know you told Martin to talk to me.”

To his credit, Anthony’s face only fell a tiny bit. He glanced around, looking to see if Martin was also there.

“How did you find out?” he asked.

“Martin told me,” James said. Frowning, he folded his arms across his chest. Anthony winced.

“Are you pissed?” 

“Why didn’t you simply ask me?”

“I tried to!” Anthony exclaimed. Grabbing his husband’s arm, he pulled him away from the main room into a quiet corner. James glared at the floor. He knew that Anthony was right, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “You wouldn’t answer me. You’re not messing with your tanks like you normally do, and you just seem… I don’t know. Sad.” 

James sighed. Anthony was probably going to find out what he said to Martin anyway. He looked up from the floor. 

“I hate the job,” he confessed. 

Anthony’s face dropped. This, James thought, was why he hadn’t mentioned anything to him before now. 

“You should have said something,” Anthony said. 

“You would have worried,” James replied. “Or told me to quit.”

“Well, it might not be the worst idea in the world.”

“It is!” James stepped forward. “It’s been two years, Anthony. I’m not about to collapse out of nowhere.”

“You did collapse out of nowhere,” Anthony pointed out. He looked upset, refusing to meet James’ eye. “You nearly died.”

“So did you!”

“My heart never stopped. You quite literally died right in front of me.” Anthony paused, taking a deep breath. “The doctors said that-that stress can make your heart worse. You don’t need some shitty job stressing you out. We don’t need the money.”

“It’s not about the money,” James said. “I felt as though I was going insane, sitting in that house day after day with nothing to do. At least this job, as much as I loathe it, gives me something to do.”

“But your heart…” Anthony murmured. His voice was trembling. Reaching forward, James took his husband’s hand and pressed it against his chest.

“Do you feel that?” he asked. Anthony nodded. “My heart is fine. If I can handle shooting guns for a morning, then I can handle an office job.” 

Anthony gave him a wobbly smile then. He pressed his hand a little harder against James’ chest. 

“You should have told me that you don’t like it,” he said.

“You should have told me that you were worried,” James replied. Anthony laughed a little, nodding. 

“I will.” Finally taking his hand from his husband’s chest, he smiled at him. “Am I forgiven?”

“Hm,” James said. He raised an eyebrow. Anthony laughed, shaking his head. 

“I’ll make it up to you later,” he said, and grabbed his husband’s hand.

Chapter Text

“Just a quick reminder, darling. Make sure you call your sister and remind her of the dinner on Saturday? You know I love Rosie, but she has a memory like a sieve and I guarantee she didn’t write it down. I can’t wait to see you. It’s been far too long. Okay, I love you, and I’ll see you at the weekend!” 

***

Following the paintballing day, the office has developed a taste for spending even more time together than they normally do. The past two weekends have involved office events, one being a cat cafe (at Kitty’s request) and the other being the nearest pub after work last Friday. James has gone along to both of them, at the request of his husband. Begrudgingly, he does have to admit that they weren’t entirely awful. 

Currently it is Thursday, and they are discussing what this weekend’s plans are. They are all sitting in the break room, having all decided to take lunch at the same time for once, and are throwing ideas out into the room. 

“I really do think Thorpe Park would be a good idea,” Fanny is insisting. 

“The Captain can’t go on anything, though,” Kitty says. They all look at him and he shrugs a little.

“I don’t mind holding the bags,” he says. He and Fanny have discussed the theme park idea since it was first suggested, and he has agreed that he would be happy to go along with them. He’d never enjoyed rollercoasters even before he was medically banned from riding them anyway. 

“No, it’s not fair to make you spend forty quid to stand around all day,” Pat says, waving his hand. “Why don’t we go camping?”

“Absolutely not,” Fanny sniffs. 

“I say that we just go to the pub again,” Julian says. That makes sense. Last week, James had watched the man put away pint after pint and somehow still be upright by the end of the night. It’s possibly the first time he’s had any respect for him. 

“No, we did that last week,” Alison points out. “We should try something different.”

“Zumba,” Robin says. He looks very pleased with himself. Everyone turns to him.

“You do zumba?” James asks. Robin, looking at him as if this is a ridiculous question to ask, nods. 

“Gotta work on my core,” he says sagely. James stares at him for a moment before shaking himself and looking away.

“I know of a slam poetry evening that we could attend,” Thomas says. Everybody groans, shaking their heads. 

“Have you got any ideas, Captain?” Alison asks. James glances around them all. His only suggestion is a museum, but he already knows that this will be shot down immediately. It doesn’t matter, anyhow.

“I can’t come along this weekend,” he says. He can’t help but smile a little as he says it. 

They all frown at him a little then. They’re glancing between themselves, and he realises rather rapidly that they must think he doesn’t like spending time with them, what with how he’s grinning. “Anthony’s coming home,” he says quickly. 

He’s grinning even more now. Anthony is indeed coming home, and he’s incredibly excited about it. He has said that he will be home for dinner on Friday, and James has been practicing cooking his favourite meal, lasagne, for two weeks now. There have been some disastrous attempts, namely the one where he burned it so badly that he set the smoke alarm off and very nearly had to reach for the fire extinguisher Anthony insists they keep under the sink, but the last few he’s made have been mildly successful. Honestly he’s getting a little sick of the meal now, having eaten it for both lunch and dinner for a number of days, but he knows that it will be worth it when he gets to see the look on Anthony’s face. 

“Oh,” Pat says. His voice is high, and James narrows his eyes at him a little. He knows from the conversation he overheard a few weeks ago that Pat is firmly within the Anthony doesn’t exist camp. “That’s… nice.”

“You two got any plans?” Julian asks. Further snooping on secret conversations has taught James that Julian is the one who first organised the office wager, and is also the one who has put the most money into it. He’s not surprised at this information, although it does fill him with great joy that Julian is betting on Anthony not being real. He nods.

“We’re going to dinner with my sister,” he says. 

This is also true. He had been against it at first, rather selfishly wanting to keep his husband all to himself for the weekend, but then Rosie has told him that the reason why she wants this was because she has something to tell them. The fact she has offered to pay for the meal has not harmed her chances, either. They’re meeting her and her husband on Saturday night. He and Anthony have already agreed that they are absolutely not spending the entire night out and will be home by ten at the latest. 

“You have a sister?” Fanny asks. 

“Yes. Why is that so surprising?”

They all mumble things then, refusing to meet his eye. Whilst they’re not looking at him, he can’t help but smile. Oh, they really are going to regret it when they meet Anthony for the first time. “Anyway,” he says after a moment. “If I’m not coming along, then why not go to your theme park?”

Fanny’s eyes light up then. For some reason, her love of theme parks does not surprise James one bit. 

“Indeed!” she says, overjoyed. The way that the others are looking at each other tells James that they know that they aren’t getting out of this one. “Oh, I shall have to look into the Fast Pass prices.”

***

“Hi, James.”

“You’re not coming home, are you?”

“...No. I’m sorry. The bastard cancelled the leave.”

“What was his excuse this time?”

“I didn’t stay in his office long enough to hear it. It doesn’t matter because it’s probably a lie anyway. He was looking for any reason to keep me here.”

“Do you remember what you said about him being homophobic?”

“Yeah, weeks ago. Why?”

“I think you’re right.” 

“Woah. You never call anyone homophobic unless you’re sure.”

“He’s cancelled your leave at every turn. He must have known you were coming home to see me. It’s not like our relationship is a secret. The only leave you’ve been able to get is when he thought your grandmother was dying.”

“What are you saying?”

“I think the only way that you would have been allowed to come home is if I had another heart attack.”

“Okay, don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m not. Neither am I joking when I say that I’m getting a hotel for the weekend.”

“James, I’m on duty all weekend now. We’d literally just get the evenings.”

“That’s enough. I’ve been looking forward to this weekend ever since you told me you were coming home.” 

“What about your sister? She’ll be pissed if you cancel on her with this little notice.”

“She’ll understand.”

“Love, this is going to cost you an extortionate amount of money.”

“I don’t care. I want to see you.”

“I can see about getting you on-base tomorrow. I’m friendly with the guardroom. Even if the best I can get is escorted access, then you can just stick with me.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Well, tell me what they say. If not, I’ll get the hotel reservation sorted.”

“Are you sure about this? It’s only a few more weeks and I’ll be home for good.”

“Anthony. I had planned to see you this weekend. I will see you this weekend, one way or another.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Let me know what the guardroom says.”

***

Chipping Norton, 2018

When James was four, his parents had disappeared one night, leaving him with his grandmother. When they came home the next day, his mother had a small bundle in her arms. She’d sat down on the sofa before beckoning him over and getting him to sit next to her. His father standing behind them, his mother had placed the bundle into his arms. 

“This is your sister,” she had said as James stared down at the baby he was now holding. The baby’s eyes opened and she looked at him. “You’re her older brother. Do you know what that means?”

He’d shaken his head. His mother had smiled at him then. “You have to look after her, and make sure she does the right thing.”

“Do you understand that?” his father had said. James, looking up at him, had nodded before looking back down to his sister. She was staring at him again. Then, she screwed her face up and began to cry. 

It hadn’t gotten much better from there.

James and Rosie were very different people. Whilst James had spent his life trying to please their parents, in particular their father, Rosie had entered a rebellious phase at the age of twelve that hadn’t stopped until she’d gotten accidentally pregnant at the age of seventeen. Their father had been furious, and had insisted that she marry the baby’s father or be cut off from the family. Not wanting to be cut off and being terrified of impending motherhood, she’d done so. When their father had died, however, she and her son’s father had amicably divorced, she had used her inheritance to go to university to study social anthropology, and had never really left. She was now married to a very lovely man, had three more children alongside her oldest son, and worked at Oxford University. 

When James had left home, they had drifted apart. In fact, when their father died, they had not seen each other for almost three years. Following her divorce and James’ developing relationship with Anthony, both of which had strained their relationship with their mother, they had gotten closer. After his heart attack, though, she had insisted that they see each other a bit more often. 

Currently, James and Anthony were sitting in the bar of a restaurant in Chipping Norton. James was looking at his watch, tutting, whilst Anthony kept laughing into his drink.

“Seriously,” Anthony said. “You have to stop counting.”

“Seven, she said,” James replied. He looked pointedly at Anthony. “Seven. It’s now seven-oh-eight.”

“It’s less than ten minutes,” Anthony pointed out. Reaching over, he put his hand over his husband’s watch. 

“I’m telling you, she’s doing this on purpose,” James said.

“She’s got three kids at home!”

“Two of which are teenagers.”

“And one of which is three. The babysitter was probably late or something.”

“No, I’m telling you,” James repeated. “She does things like this specifically to annoy me.”

“You’re not kids anymore,” Anthony said. James raised an eyebrow.

“Coming from the man who hides his brother’s phone at any given opportunity,” he said. Anthony flushed bright red then, taking a deep gulp of his drink. 

“Yeah, well, Adam deserves it,” he said after a moment. James had been about to reply, but was interrupted by his sister rushing over and throwing her arms around him. 

“Sorry, sorry!” she said as James’ eyes widened and he stared at his now giggling husband. “I know we’re late.”

“He’s been counting,” Anthony told her as she let him go. James glared at his husband. 

“Oh, I’m not surprised,” Rosie said, waving her hand. She moved over a little as her husband Phillip wandered over, his coat over his arm. Phillip was a very quiet man. He was a forensic anthropologist, spending his days with skeletons rather than people. True to form, he simply smiled at them and raised his hand in greeting rather than speaking. “Shall we get a table?”

Once they were seated, conversation quickly turned to their jobs. James told his sister about Pat, the newest member of the office, and his fondness for scouting and probing questions. Rosie told them a story about foiling a cheating ring among her students. Phillip continued not to speak much, but did tell them that he was working on a study to examine the effect of water acidity on the decomposition of bones. 

“So, Anthony,” Rosie said as she turned to her brother-in-law. 

Anthony and James glanced at each other. It had taken Rosie a long time to warm up to Anthony. Whilst she had helped them out with Christmas dinner a few years ago, she had spent most of the day shooting Anthony deadly looks, given that them cooking the dinner had been his idea. She had told them both, quite bluntly, that she would not hesitate to make Anthony’s life a misery if he ever hurt her brother. 

Since the heart attack, though, Rosie and Anthony’s relationship had changed. Rosie had come to visit him in the hospital one day, and when Anthony had disappeared to go and get coffee for them, she’d told him that when Anthony had called her to tell her what had happened, it had taken him nearly ten minutes just to stop crying for long enough to get the words out. “I know it sounds stupid,” she’d said, refusing to meet his eyes as she’d fussed with the bedsheets, “but it made me realise just how much he loves you.”. Despite this, she often couldn’t help but make him squirm. 

“Yeah?” Anthony squeaked out. Under the table, he was gripping James’ thigh. 

“You’re still making Jamie work, then?”

“Rosie!” James scolded. Anthony’s eyes were wide and he was staring at her. 

“Uh…” he managed to say. 

“Don’t listen to her,” James said quickly. He glared at his sister. “You know as well as I do that Anthony isn’t making me do anything.”

“You’re so easy to wind up,” Rosie laughed. James settled for continuing to glare at her. His sister was a uniquely frustrating person who knew exactly how to press his buttons and piss him off. She’d been doing it ever since she learned how to talk, and never used to get into trouble for it because she was younger and, as the older sibling, James was always told that he “should know better”. “Look, c’mon. I need your help, anyway.”

“What for?” James asked. 

“It’s Mum’s birthday next week,” she said. 

Anthony’s grip on his thigh tightened. James knew that it was his mother’s birthday. The two of them had barely spoken since the wedding. Even after his heart attack, she had only ever visited him once in the hospital, had stayed for barely ten minutes, and had managed to insult him, his husband and their marriage in one sentence. It had really been the final nail in the coffin for their relationship. 

“I know,” he said carefully. 

“Are you getting her anything this year?” Rosie asked. She was looking uncomfortable, glancing between her husband and the table. She knew that the relationship between the two of them was practically non-existent, and had indeed apparently yelled at their mother when she found out what she’d said to him in the hospital. 

“No,” James said, shaking his head. He looked to Anthony, who gave him an encouraging smile. The decision to stop buying Christmas and birthday presents for his mother had been a difficult one. Last year on his mother’s birthday, the first one he’d not called or gotten her a present for, he had felt horrendously guilty about it. Now, as time went on, the guilt was lessening. “Why?”

“Oh, just that I’ll put your name on my present if you want,” Rosie said quickly. “I don’t want her calling you just to yell.”

“She’s not called yet,” James pointed out. Rosie nodded, trying to smile but her eyes were giving away how sad she was. 

“I really thought she’d have called by now,” she said. James shrugged. 

“You do remember what she said to him in the hospital?” Anthony said. Rosie shifted then, clearly uncomfortable. 

“I know,” she mumbled. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“You guys should talk about this, though,” Anthony said, leaning forward. They both turned to look at him. Anthony grabbed his drink, taking a large gulp. “You don’t really talk about your mum, either of you.” 

“We don’t need to,” James said.

“We both know what our mum’s like,” Rosie agreed. Here, Anthony and Phillip glanced at each other, exchanging a look which went either unseen or wilfully ignored by the siblings. 

“I just mean--” Anthony started

“I’m going for a smoke,” Rosie announced, cutting him off as she rose from her seat and grabbed her jacket. She looked at her brother. “You coming, Jamie?”

“Yes, I rather think I will,” James said, giving Anthony a glare and following his sister out of the restaurant. 

The night air was cold and he couldn’t help but shiver, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. Rosie had already reached into her pocket, pulling out a vape. She offered it to her brother, who shook his head.

“I’m trying to quit,” she explained as she took a drag from the device. She blew the smoke directly in his face.

“What on earth is that?” James spluttered, waving his hands to clear the smoke. “Is that… cotton candy?”

“Yeah,” Rosie replied with a grin. Then she frowned a little, glancing back towards the restaurant. “All that fuss over Mum…”

“Yes, rather,” James said. He bounced on his heels a little, clasping his hands behind his back. It was ridiculous, really. Anthony knew full well what his mother was like, and had made his opinions on her quite clear. God, he wanted a cigarette. 

“Has she really not called you at all?” Rosie asked. James shrugged. 

“She tried last Christmas,” he said. “It… was not successful.”

“What did she say?”

“Well, she called Anthony a filthy whore and said he’d dragged me down to hell with him the moment she heard him, so I hung up.”

“Seriously? On Christmas?”

“It did rather put a damper on the morning.”

They were quiet again, staunchly refusing to look at each other. Rosie made a small noise as she tapped the vape against her teeth. 

“She does ask about you, you know,” she said. 

“She does?” James replied, surprised. Rosie nodded. 

“She asks how you’re doing. After you had your heart… thing,” here, Rosie’s face morphed into a pained expression for a moment and she glanced at him, “she asked after you quite a lot. She said she didn’t know how to ask you yourself, after what happened.”

“She told me it was my punishment,” James said. He took his hands from behind his back, turning fully to face her. Rosie was avoiding his eyes now, staring at the floor. “She said that I deserved it, and that Anthony, our marriage, was the reason why it had happened. She said it right in front of him!”

“I know what she said,” Rosie mumbled. 

“She told me she was glad that I’d been discharged. Glad!” James laughed a little, spreading his arms out. “I’d just lost my entire career, and she told me she was glad.”

“I don’t think she meant it like that, Jamie.”

“Oh, she most certainly did.” 

He was breathing heavily, his breath misting in the air. Rosie was still staring at the floor, in the same way she had done as a small child when she’d done something she knew was going to get her into trouble. It was hard sometimes, to look at his sister and not see her as a small child trying to get into trouble. “You two were always closer,” he tried. She didn’t look up. “With our mother…”

He trailed off. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say. 

“You and Dad were always closer,” Rosie said after a moment. She finally looked up. “And I was always… I don’t know. Jealous, I guess.”

“You do realise he wouldn’t have spoken to me either?” James told her. She shifted a little. 

“I know,” she said. “And I’m sorry. But after Dad died, Mum was all we had left. I never thought she’d really…”

She trailed off again, huffing out a half-laugh, half-sob as she looked towards the sky. James moved forward, but she shook her head. “I’m just sorry she’s been such an arsehole to you,” she finished after a moment. 

“I have Anthony,” James said. “And I have you. That’s all the family I really need. Don’t you agree?”

She looked at him then. Her smile was wobbly and watery, but it was a smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Right,” he repeated. He looked back towards the restaurant. “Now come along. If we leave them alone for too long then Phillip will start talking about dead bodies, and Anthony can be rather squeamish these days.”

Rosie laughed. Coming forward, she hooked her arm into his. 

“Yeah, more like you want to get home for your old-man bedtime.”

“I--ten in the evening is not an unreasonable bedtime!” 

“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that. Old man.”

“I swear, if you weren’t--”

This argument, James knew, was going to go on for a very long time. He didn’t mind though. She was family, after all.

Chapter Text

“Hello, love. I will never be so glad to come to the end of an assignment as I will be when I finish up here. I cannot wait to come home. The fact I’ve not even been able to have any proper leave because of the bastard CO will only make it all the more sweeter when I drive out of here and never return. Maybe I’ll get Barry to piss on him again for good measure. Not long now, darling. I love you.” 

***

James hasn’t stopped looking at his phone all morning. 

Today is a very important day. Today is the day that Anthony will finally find out whether he is getting promoted or not. Whilst it’s somewhat less stressful than the last time he’d been promoted, given that James himself is not up for the same promotion, it’s still nerve-wracking. If he doesn’t get the promotion, then James knows that his husband will be downright despondent. To be honest, James is starting to think that he may feel the same. If Anthony doesn’t get the promotion, then it will rather feel like the last six months will have been for nothing. 

He looks at his phone again. No notifications, again. Sighing frustratedly, he clicks it off. What is Anthony doing now? Does he have a class? Is he sitting in his room, staring at his laptop? 

Logically, James knows that he should not be this stressed. Anthony certainly will not want him to be stressed. It’s hard not to be, though. Whilst Anthony tries to deny it, James knows that this promotion means a lot to him. Anthony has often talked about trying to be the youngest Colonel in the British Army, and if he doesn’t get this promotion, then it throws off the entire plan. That will mean months of his husband moping about the house, pretending to be okay when he really isn’t. James doesn’t want that for either of them. 

He looks at his phone again. Still nothing. It’s making him want to throw the blasted thing out of the window. 

“Everything alright?” Alison asks as she passes his desk. He looks up from his phone. 

“Sorry,” he says. He’s rather aware that he’s done almost nothing this morning. “I-I’ll get on.”

“Captain, you’re weeks ahead on everything,” she tells him. “You don’t normally look at your phone this much.”

“I’m waiting for Anthony to message,” he says. Alison, as far as he has ascertained, believes that Anthony exists, although she has not placed a bet. She and Michael have recently bought their first house, and apparently it’s rather a fixer-upper so they need every spare bit of cash they can get. “He hears if he’s getting promoted or not today.”

“Oh, exciting!” Alison says. His face must do something then, because her smile drops quickly. “Or… not?”

“Nerve-wracking,” he explains. “If he gets this, then he has the opportunity to be promoted to Colonel in a few years. If not…”

He trails off. Alison nods, although she looks a little confused. James isn’t surprised. Civilians don’t tend to understand the chain of command within the army. 

“Has he been working towards it for long?” she asks. James nods.

“Ever since he got promoted to Major, really. Although the efforts have somewhat intensified in the last year or so. It’s why he’s away.”

“Of course, he’s been away, hasn’t he?” Alison says. James nods again. He’s acutely aware of the fact that Anthony has been away. Whilst he hasn’t not seen Anthony at all, one night he hardly remembers and two nights spent in an extortionately expensive Premier Inn don’t particularly count. He’ll feel better once Anthony is home, where he belongs. 

When he looks at his phone this time, he realises that it’s almost midday. The lists are released at 1200 hours exactly. He grabs his phone. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly to Alison. “I have to call him. In case he doesn’t…”

“Go, go!” Alison says quickly, shooing him away. As he’s hurrying towards the break room, she calls after him. “And good luck, Anthony!” 

***

“Anthony, have you heard yet?”

“Not yet. I keep refreshing my emails.”

“They said the lists for promotion would be announced at 1200.”

“I know. Do you think they’ll email me first if I get it?”

“Do you not remember from when you got promoted to Major?”

“Not really. Do you not remember, a certain dickhead told me before I even had a chance to look at my emails. Hang on, aren’t you at work?”

“I’m in the break room.”

“Oh God, two minutes. Why am I so nervous?”

“You’ve been working towards this. Hell, this promotion is why you took this assignment.”

“Yeah, and I regret it every day.”

“No you don’t. You certainly won’t if you get promoted because of it.”

“The CO hates me. There’s no way he gave me a good recommendation.”

“It isn’t simply down to him and you know it.”

“One minute. I think I’m actually going to be sick.”

“No you’re not.”

“I am. I’ve never been this nervous about a promotion before.”

“If you don’t get it, you can--”

“Fuck off.”

“What?”

“Fuck off!”

“Anthony, what?”

“I got it.”

“You… you got it?”

“I got the promotion. They just emailed. I got the fucking promotion.”

“Lieutenant Colonel Havers. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Jesus fuck. I can’t believe I got it.”

“You deserve it, Anthony, really.”

“How the hell did I get it? Do you think Martin put in a word for me?”

“More than likely. He’s retiring next year. He said he wants you to take over from him.”

“Seriously, I am going to have to buy that man a very expensive bottle of scotch.”

“Congratulations, dearest. I love you. I have to get back to work, but I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Yeah, alright. I need to go and cry happy tears in the shower for ten minutes, I think. Love you too, babe”

***

Malmesbury, 2018 

When James walked in from work and found Anthony standing in the middle of the living room, muttering to himself in the mirror, he knew that something had either gone horribly wrong or horribly right. 

“I’m home,” he called as he dropped his bag by the front door. Reaching over the edge of the sofa, he absent-mindedly scratched Barry’s ears as he watched Anthony continue to talk to himself. He and Barry looked at each other. When he raised an eyebrow, Barry let out a deep harrumph and buried his nose in his front paws as if to say don’t ask me. “Anthony?”

This time, Anthony did seem to realise that he was there, as he abruptly stopped talking. He did not turn away from the mirror. 

“We’ve got to talk,” he said.

“Darling, if you’re divorcing me, can I at least have a shower first?” James said as he came further into the room. A few years ago, Anthony telling him that they had to talk would have sent him into a spiral of panic that may have lasted anywhere from an hour to a number of days. The last few years, though, had shown him that they truly were capable of getting through anything. Anyway, if Anthony really was going to divorce him, he probably wouldn’t look so nervous about it. 

Anthony gave him a half-hearted glare then. He turned away from the mirror to look at him. 

“Seriously,” he said. “We need to talk about something.”

“Is it… serious?” James asked as he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Anthony shrugged a little. 

“Do you remember when we first changed Barry’s food to stop him being such a dick?” he said. Barry whined in protest. James gave his husband a half-hearted admonishing look, but nodded. “And you made that spreadsheet comparing all the brands and the prices and what effects they had on him?” 

“Anthony, where are you going with this?”

“Just…” Anthony trailed off, sighing in frustration. “You know how I’m up for the promotion next year?”

James did indeed know. It had been all Anthony had talked about since he’d found out that there was going to be an opening for a Lieutenant Colonel position next year. If he got it, it would set his plans to become Colonel in motion whilst giving him a nice little cash boost along the way. Regarding his husband now, though, and the way he was chewing on the hangnail on his thumb, he didn’t seem particularly excited. 

“Have you changed your mind?” James asked as he came forward and gently took his husband’s hand from his mouth. 

“No!”

“Because if you have, that’s fine.”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s…” Trailing off again, Anthony looked towards the ceiling for a moment before looking back down. “There’s an opening for a six-month secondment. I’d basically be doing what I do now, teaching the recruits, but I’d have a bit more freedom over the curriculum for them. Apparently it’s sort of an unofficial job interview.” 

“I’m not following why we need to discuss this,” James said. 

“It’s in Yorkshire.”

Ah. Right, yes, now James was starting to catch up to why Anthony had been so nervous to bring it up. Six months was rather a long time for him to be away. Had the secondment been somewhere a little closer, say Sandhurst, then Anthony could at least come home every weekend, or even most nights if he didn’t mind a longer commute. But Yorkshire… 

“Right,” he said a little faintly. “Six months, you say?”

“Yeah,” Anthony replied. His voice was quiet. 

“If you took it, when, um… when would you be leaving?”

“In the new year, not long after Christmas.”

That was very, very soon. James felt his heart rate pick up, and instantly hoped that this blasted conversation wasn’t going to land him in A&E for the night. He forced himself to take a deep breath. 

“When do you need to decide by?” he asked, doing his very best to keep his voice level. Anthony looked away.

“...Friday morning,” he mumbled. 

“Friday!?” James couldn’t help but exclaim. “Anthony, it’s Wednesday today!” 

“I know!” Anthony replied. “Which is why I need you to take tomorrow off work, pull that whiteboard you bought off Amazon for no reason last month out of the spare room, and help me decide whether or not to do it!” 

“Hang on, you have leave tomorrow?” James said, confused. Anthony rolled his eyes. 

“I’m pulling a sickie, James. Please, for the love of all that’s holy, can you do the same?” 

Well, his husband really didn’t ask for much. 

They were both awake by 0700 hours. Anthony put in quite a performance to his CO to convince him of his sickness, even though James knew quite well that if he had simply had a quiet word with Martin then leave would have been granted almost immediately. James settled for simply emailing Humphrey and telling him that he would not be in the office. There was a quick trip to the local supermarket for a supply restock (see: biscuits and snacks), and then Anthony settled on the sofa with the biggest blanket they owned whilst James set up the whiteboard. 

“Operation Secondment,” James announced as he underlined the words on the whiteboard, turning back to face his husband. Anthony was clutching a cup of tea to his chest and looking slightly terrified. The whiteboard was split into two sides, pros and cons. “Our aim is to decide whether or not you, Anthony, should take this six-month secondment in Yorkshire. We are going to identify the positives and negatives of this decision, and note them here.” 

Here, James tapped his pen against the whiteboard. Anthony nodded, taking a sip of his tea.

“Well, one pro,” he said. “Yorkshire has the best tea.”

“I’m not writing that down.”

“Oh, come on. Please?”

James sighed heavily, but uncapped the pen and wrote “tea” under the ‘Positives’ column. 

“Now come on,” he said sternly. “We need some real ideas here, if we’re going to make a decision by this evening.” 

“Alright, alright,” Anthony said. He shifted on the sofa, staring intently at the board. “Okay, uh, well… I guess a positive is that it could help me get the promotion?”

“I’d certainly say so,” James agreed, and wrote it down on the whiteboard. 

“And… God, I don’t know.” Anthony sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “You come up with something.”

“Well…”

James searched his brain for anything to put on the board. He could come up with a number of rather selfish negatives, but they didn’t seem right to say out loud. As for genuine reasons, he couldn’t seem to think of anything. “Um…” he said. Anthony was looking at him with that begging expression. “What about our anniversary?”

“Our anniversary?” Anthony repeated. 

“If you take the secondment, you’ll be away for our anniversary.”

“Oh, yeah. God, it’s ten years as well, isn’t it?” Anthony gestured to the whiteboard. “Put that in the cons.” 

“Yes, alright."

The next hour or so saw them both throw out various ideas, most of which made their way onto the board. After adding “will get cold” in the ‘Negatives’ column, James walked over and sat down next to his husband. They surveyed the board for a moment.

“It’s shit, isn’t it?” Anthony said. James groaned, nodding. 

“We’ve somehow put leave in both categories,” he said. 

“How are we going to make this decision?” 

They looked at each other, and then back at the whiteboard. There were words, a lot of them, but none of them seemed to actually mean anything. James sighed, raising his hand to cover his eyes. 

“This is when I miss smoking,” he mumbled. 

“No, come on,” Anthony said. He was trying to sound positive, but it wasn’t really working. Taking his hand from his eyes, James fixed him with a look. “We can do this!”

“We really can’t,” James replied, gesturing to the board. Anthony wasn’t listening, though. He’d grabbed the pen and was scribbling something on the board. “What are you doing?”

“Adding another quick positive.”

“...Did you really just write homecoming sex?”

“We both know it’s better when we’ve been apart for a while.”

“No. Erase it.”

“Oh, babe!”

James glared at him. Anthony was giggling, still holding the pen. 

“It’s rather simple,” James said after a moment. Putting the pen down, Anthony came over and sat next to him. “Do you want this promotion?”

“I really want this promotion,” Anthony said after a moment. James nodded.

“Well, there we are, then,” he said. “You’ll take the secondment.”

Anthony blinked at him then. 

“What, it’s that simple?” he asked. 

“I would say so.”

“But it’ll be six months of us being apart.”

“I’m not thrilled about that part,” James said. Anthony chuckled. “But we’ll have leave.”

Here, he pointed at the board. 

“And homecoming sex,” Anthony added. James rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, yes, alright,” he replied. Anthony grinned at him. Reaching over, James grabbed his husband’s hand. “It’s your career,” he said. “I’ll manage. So will you.”

Taking a deep breath, Anthony glanced at the board for a moment before looking back to his husband.

“Well, I guess I’m going to Yorkshire for six months,” he said. 

“I suppose you are,” James replied, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Chapter Text

“Hi, my love. Driving, can’t text. Can’t wait to see you soon! Love you, bye.” 

***

They’re all waiting for him when he walks back into the office after his lunch break.

It reminds James eerily of that morning six months ago when they’d first found out about Anthony. He drops his bag onto his desk, frowning at them. Pat looks guilty. Thomas and Kitty have shrunk back, both of them refusing to meet his eye. Robin looks almost gleeful. Humphrey is loitering towards the back of the room, maintaining a respectable distance but clearly ready to listen in to whatever conversation is about to happen. Fanny and Alison are standing next to each other, looking equally as uncomfortable as each other. Mary is trying to hide a smile. Julian, as ever, is standing at the front of the group. 

This, it dawns on James as he looks over them all, is an intervention. Clearly they’ve had enough. Either that or the wager has grown stagnant and no money is being made. This is the more likely scenario of the two. 

“We need to talk about Anthony,” Julian says. 

“No, we don’t,” James replies, unable to resist one last jab. Anthony is going to be home tonight anyhow, and he’s promised to come to the office pub night next Friday so that his existence can be definitively proven. 

“Captain, we know he doesn’t exist,” Alison says gently. She is chewing her lip and keeps glancing at the others, as if she’s hoping that one of them will back her up. 

“It was fine when it was just to stop the ice-breaker,” Pat jumps in. Alison looks a little hurt then, but doesn’t argue with him. “But it’s been six months of this, mate.”

“You won’t show us a picture of him,” Thomas says, stepping forward. “We tried searching for him, but nothing came up. Not even an old Facebook account.”

This tells James that they must have assumed that Anthony took his last name when they married. Had they searched for Anthony properly, then they would’ve found not only a Facebook account, but also an Instagram, a Twitter and a number of photos. He decides to keep his mouth shut, though. 

“Nobody call dog Barry,” Robin grunts. This sets off a flurry of nods throughout the group. 

“And you haven’t worn a wedding ring for at least six months!” Kitty says. He can tell just by looking at her that she doesn’t really believe what she’s saying. 

“It’s perfectly normal not to be married,” Fanny says. Fanny not believing him is perhaps one of the biggest betrayals, but he continues to stay quiet. 

“Please,” Pat almost begs. “Please just admit that he’s not real.”

“Have you finished?” James asks, raising one eyebrow. There’s a moment, then everyone nods. “Very well. Your methodology is flawed. If you’d have simply stopped for a moment and--”

“Hello?”

***

Major (soon-to-be Lieutenant Colonel) Anthony Havers has been driving for four hours, and he’s just about had enough of it. 

“Nearly there,” he murmurs to Barry, who is sitting on the back seat. The dog does not respond past a muffled harrumph. Anthony chuckles, shaking his head and looking back to the road. 

As far as his husband knows, he is currently somewhere on the M1 up north. James is expecting him back some time this evening, and he’s purposely left a voicemail to make it seem this way. He’d left camp at eight on the dot, and has been making good time thus far. Currently, he’s less than a minute away from his husband’s workplace. 

He’s been to Button House before, but only ever in the evenings when nobody is there. In the daylight, the office building is a lot more dingy than he remembers. He parks up quickly, grabbing Barry from the back seat and allowing the poor thing five minutes on the patch of scrubland in the middle of the car park to relieve himself. He’s staring at the building as he waits for Barry to do his business, excitement filling him. It’s been a long six months. 

When he asks for Button House, the receptionist simply grunts at him and points at a door to her left. She doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he’s in fatigues, or the fact that he’s got a massive German Shepherd with him. It’s a blessing in disguise, he supposes. He thanks her quickly, and goes through the door. 

It’s a somewhat strange scene in the office. He can’t see James, which is probably why Barry hasn’t gone running forward yet, but he’s guessing that he’s behind the gathered mass of people. He starts to move forward, but then one of them turns around. It’s a tall fellow in a red shirt, and his eyes widen when he sees him. Anthony is about to say something, but the man shakes his head, puts his fingers to his lips and points to the group. 

Ah, Anthony realises as he starts to tune into the conversation. They’re discussing him. Specifically, the fact that they don’t believe him to exist. The excitement of seeing his husband is almost overtaken for a moment by the anticipation for the absolute shitshow it’s going to cause when he starts speaking. 

He waits, though. He waits as they go through their honestly terrible reasoning. He waits as James continues to stay quiet.

“Please,” someone wails. If he had to guess from the northern accent, Anthony would say that it is Pat. “Please just admit that he’s not real.”

“Have you finished?” he hears his husband ask. Unable to help it, Anthony feels a smile start to grow on his face. There is a pause, then everyone in the group nods. “Very well. Your methodology is flawed. If you’d have simply stopped for a moment and--”

This is his moment.

“Hello?” he calls as he starts to move forward. James stops talking mid-sentence. The group freezes. Anthony tries to smother down a laugh. “I’m looking for a certain Mr James Hutchins? Sometimes goes by ‘the Captain’. I was told I could find him here.”

Nobody has responded, and he can’t help but let himself get a little silly with it. “He’s about yea tall, has a moustache. Incredibly handsome? You wouldn’t have happened to have seen him, would you?”

“Shit,” somebody in the group squeaks out. They’re all starting to turn, very slowly, to look at him. There’s a moment and then the group parts, and James pushes his way through. 

He’s just as handsome as Anthony remembered. He’s staring at him, his mouth half-open, as if he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Barry lets out a whine, tugging on his lead. 

“Anthony,” James breathes. “But you were…”

“You really think I stayed up there any longer than I had to, love?” Anthony laughs. He gives Barry’s lead a tiny tug, just enough to get him to sit. The group is still turning. He’s picked out Julian Fawcett straight away, though. He still remembers him from Strictly. “Absolutely bloody not. I was out of there as soon as the assignment officially ended.” 

The group has finally turned to look at him. James’ descriptions of them seem to be accurate, as he’s able to put names to faces rather quickly. Their expressions range from shocked to embarrassed to utterly terrified. He raises a hand to them. “Hi. I’m Anthony Havers. James’ husband.”

“Phantom!” a woman Anthony presumes to be Mary hisses. A young man, Thomas if he has to guess, whimpers and looks as if he’s about to faint. 

“Oh, and this,” he adds, gesturing to Barry, who has once again stood up and is making a good attempt at tearing his arm right from its socket, “is Barry.”

James rushes forward then, tackling him in a hug. He stumbles backwards a little, laughing as he puts his free arm around his husband. “I missed you too, love,” he chuckles. 

“You’re not allowed to go away again,” James says into his neck. He pulls back for a moment, giving him a wobbly smile. “I absolutely forbid it.” 

“Don’t you worry,” Anthony replies. “I’m not planning on it any time soon.”

At that moment, Barry lets out a bark as he weasels his way between them. He’s looking up at James with a begging look on his face. “I think someone’s a bit jealous,” Anthony says, gesturing to him. 

“Oh come here, you silly dog,” James says and reaches down to fuss him. 

“Love?” James looks up from Barry. Anthony holds out the lead. “Take Barry for a quick walk, would you?”

“Anthony?”

“Please? He’s been holed up in the car for ages.” Looking away from his husband, he grins at the group. They all take a sizable step backwards. “Anyway, I think the rest of us need to have a little… chat.”

“He going to kill us,” a somewhat scruffy man in a big fluffy hoodie that Anthony presumes to be Robin whispers to Julian. James is clearly thinking the same thing, as he’s looking at him in alarm. He shakes his head, giving him a small smile.

“Go on. I need twenty minutes, that’s all.”

“Very well,” James sighs. Coming forward again, he kisses Anthony quickly. “Come along, Barry.”

Anthony waits until he has gone before he turns back to the group. They are practically against the wall in a line. He walks forward, his hands behind his back as he surveys them as if they are a group of recruits undergoing inspection. He walks along the line until he reaches Julian. Stopping, he fixes him with a look. He can’t help but relish the moment when Julian squirms.

“Am I to understand that you are the one who set up the bet?” he asks. 

“The-the bet?” Julian says. He tries to laugh and look at the others for support, but gets exactly none. “What bet would-would this be, exactly?” 

“Give it up, Julian,” Pat says. “He obviously knows.”

Julian looks down at the floor and mumbles something nobody can hear. Anthony leans forward.

“What was that?” he asks. He tries to use his authoritative voice, the one he uses when he has to deal with recruits who just do not want to do what they’re told. “Speak up, please.”

“Yes!” Julian exclaims as he looks up. “Yes, I made the bet, alright? God, you’re terrifying,” he adds in a murmur when Anthony steps back. 

“It upset James very much when he found out, you know,” he tells them. Their eyes widen then, and they all glance at each other.

“Wait… he knows?” Pat pipes up. 

“He does. He overheard you all talking about it a couple of months ago.”

“He’s known for two months!?” Thomas shouts. His mouth is half hanging open. Anthony nods. 

“As you can see, I very much do exist,” he says. “And I understand you all must have questions, yes?” They all nod then. “Very well. What do you want to know?”

“Is all that stuff he told us true?” Julian asks. He’s a very brave man to even be speaking, but Anthony allows it. 

“I should think so,” he says. “James rarely lies, unless he’s trying to hide something. You can normally tell when he is because he’s not very good at it.” 

“So he really did have a heart attack?” a young woman he identifies as Kitty says. Her voice is small and she sounds upset. He knows James will never admit it, but the two of them are close, and it shows with how Kitty is reacting. 

“You’d never tell now, would you?” he says. Kitty shakes her head. 

“He didn’t tell us much about it,” Alison pipes up. Anthony looks towards her. She looks nervous, like his niece when she’s caught trying to sneak chocolate up to her room. “What… what happened?”

“He collapsed at a mess do,” Anthony says. The memories are starting to flood through him, as clear as the day that it had happened. 

***

MOD Lyneham, 2016

There wasn’t room in the ambulance for Anthony. Between the paramedics, the medic on-base and all of the machines, there wasn’t room for him. It had left a couple of minutes ago, blue lights and sirens wailing as it flew off away from camp. 

He was sitting in a chair in the middle of the bar. Somebody had pulled him up off the floor and deposited him there when the paramedics had arrived. He was grateful, in a way, knowing that he wouldn’t have been able to move himself. Almost everybody had left. Nobody really wanted to stay, not after that. Anthony didn’t want to stay, but his legs seemed to have gone on strike and so there he was, glued to the chair and staring at the defibrillator that had been left, abandoned, on the floor. 

How did this happen? James had been rubbing his chest earlier, sure, but he’d also eaten a breakfast sandwich that morning with all the trimmings, so Anthony had assumed that he just had heartburn. Had there been warning signs that he had missed? 

It was all a blur. An hour ago, James had been telling him to go and that he’d find his tie. And he had gone. He’d gone and had a couple of drinks and gotten himself trapped in a conversation he didn’t care about whilst James was having a heart attack on the other side of the room. Was there more that he could have done? Hell, the moment that James’ heart had stopped, that awful moment, every bit of training had left his head and he had frozen. Somebody else had done the CPR, fetched the defibrillator, moved everybody out of the way. He’d been worse than useless. 

“Did you hear what Cartwright was saying?” somebody murmured as they passed him. Anthony looked up from the defibrillator for the first time in half an hour. 

Cartwright. He was standing on the other side of the room, staring at the floor with his drink still in his hand. He'd been speaking to James, hadn't he? As Anthony dug through his frazzled memory, he realised that Cartwright had been the person who he'd pushed aside when James had started to fall. For the first time since the paramedics had arrived, he rose from his chair and stalked towards the other man.

“What were you saying to him?” he demanded once he reached him. Cartwright looked up, surprised. 

“What?” he said. 

“You heard me. What were you saying to James before he--”

The words stuck in his throat, and he had to swallow down a gag as he remembered the feeling of James’ hand going slack under his. Cartwright was frowning at him now. 

“I wasn’t saying anything to him,” he replied.

“You fucking were,” Anthony spat. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see other people starting to creep towards them. “You’ve always been nothing but an arsehole to him. Now tell me what the fuck you were saying.”

“Careful, Anthony,” Cartwright laughed. Anthony felt rage flood through him. Was he really laughing? James could die, had died for a couple of minutes, and he was laughing? “All I said was that I was surprised you two are still together. It’s not my fault that he couldn’t handle the tru--”

Before anybody could stop him and before he really knew what he was doing, Anthony pulled back and hit Cartwright as hard as he could. His fist made a cracking sound and pain flooded through his hand as it made contact with Cartwright’s cheek. The other man let out a yell, crumpling to the ground with the force of the blow. His drink splashed everywhere, coating Anthony and the floor with the sour smell of stale rum. Instantly, Anthony felt two people grab him, pulling him backwards. 

“He’s not worth it,” one of them said as they grabbed his hand, preventing him from going for another hit. 

“You’ll regret that,” Cartwright said. When he smiled, that cruel smile that made Anthony pull against those holding him back, his teeth were stained red. 

“Regret what?” Martin, the QM, said as he stepped forward. He tapped one of the people who had a grip on Anthony, gesturing for them to move and let him go. When they did so, he grabbed him before he could rush forward. “You tripped, didn’t you?”

Cartwright spluttered as he pulled himself up. He opened his mouth to reply, but Martin silenced him with a glare. “Now, I’m going to let Anthony go in exactly thirty seconds. I suggest that you are not here when I do so.” 

That was all that was needed. Cartwright was off like a shot, rushing out of the door and disappearing within ten seconds. Once they were sure that he was gone, Martin slowly let Anthony go. 

The anger gone, Anthony found himself sagging down to the floor as his legs gave way. What little energy the anger had given him had disappeared, and he was once again filled with the terror of what had happened. 

Was that it? Was the last thing James was ever going to hear be Cartwright implying that they shouldn’t even be together? A sob was forcing its way up through his chest, and he clapped his hand over his mouth. In his swimming vision, he was aware of Martin crouching down to him. He was smiling sadly. 

“Come on,” he murmured. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

***

“He was lucky to survive,” Anthony continues after a moment. He’s flexing his hand a little, the ghost of the feeling of the punch flooding through him. 

“And you?” Thomas asks. He’s staring at his scars. They all are, really, even if some of them are trying to hide it. Anthony shrugs.

“I suppose so,” he says. Alison gasps a little then. 

“The nightmare. I knew it wasn’t just a distraction tactic,” she says. Anthony turns to her, frowning. 

“What nightmare?” 

“A few months ago, the Captain fell asleep at his desk and had a nightmare,” she explains. “He mentioned that you have them too, but I thought he was just trying to distract us.”

James hasn’t mentioned the nightmare to him, and Anthony reminds himself to ask about it later. Gosh, the nightmares. Then again, he hadn’t mentioned many nightmares to his husband, either. 

***

The Queen Elizabeth Hospital Birmingham, 2015

“So, Anthony.”

Anthony did his best not to sink down in his chair and cross his arms like a moody teenager. The psychiatrist’s office looked as though it had been pulled from a movie. The walls were lined with full bookshelves, and between him and the psychiatrist was a small table with a box of tissues sat atop two more books. The psychiatrist, who had introduced himself as Dr Atwood but insisted that Anthony called him Oliver, was sitting opposite him, his legs crossed and a notebook resting on his knee. 

Anthony already hated him. The burns on his face were smarting, his shoulder hurting from the physical therapy that morning, and the last place he wanted to be was in this office. In his opinion, he did not need to be here. 

“What?” he murmured.

“Why do you think you’re here?” Dr Atwood asked. Anthony looked over from where he’d been looking at the bookshelves. 

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me that?”

“I tend to find that my patients do better if they’re actively involved in these sessions.”

“If I tell you, do I get to leave?”

Dr Atwood smiled a little then. Anthony glared back. 

“Yeah, okay,” Atwood said. That made Anthony do a double take. He’d been expecting him to say that no, they had to stay and talk about it. 

“Fine,” he said. He shifted in the chair to sit a little more upright, and winced as the change in position pulled at the tender healing skin on his face and neck. “I’m here because my husband thinks I need to speak to a psychiatrist.”

“Is that the entire reason?” Atwood asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I… said something I didn’t mean,” Anthony replied with a huff after a moment. “This seemed easier than apologising every day for the next week.” 

“What did you say to him?”

“I’m not telling you that.” 

“Alright. Will you tell me a bit about him?”

“I thought we were talking about me?”

“We will, in time. I thought you might want to tell me a bit about your husband, since he’s the reason you’re here.” 

Was the man always this frustratingly vague? Anthony glanced over him, trying to decipher something, anything, from the way he was sitting and the look on his face. Nothing. Everything about him seemed to be carefully curated so that nobody could tell what his true goal was. Was this how James felt? He’d often said that he couldn’t figure people out. 

“Alright,” he said as he frowned. “Yeah, alright, let’s talk about James.” 

“How long have the two of you been together?”

“Thirteen years in a couple of months or so.”

“Wow. That’s a long time. How long have you been married?”

“Nearly a year.”

“Congratulations. You must be very happy.”

“We are.”

“What would you have done if James had been injured?”

“He wasn’t,” Anthony said sharply. Atwood didn’t respond to this beyond a slight smile.

“I know. Could you humour me for a moment?” he said. 

“There’s nothing funny about the possibility of James getting hurt,” Anthony snapped. He sat up straighter again, folding his arms across his chest. “Anyway, James is careful, and far too clever to put himself into a situation where that could happen.”

“Would you look after him?”

“Of course I would! Are you trying to say I don’t care about my husband?”

“Not at all.”

“The entire reason that I’m here is because of him!”

“What would you do if James had been injured, was now having nightmares and flashbacks, and refused to get help?”

Anthony opened his mouth, but no words came out. Atwood had him there, he knew it. Atwood knew it too, if that look on his face was anything to go by. Anthony sank down in the seat again. His shoulder was hurting more than ever, and he resisted the urge to raise a hand to it. 

The nightmares were not something he wanted to talk about. He hardly remembered them when he woke up, only really the feeling of terror. Apparently when he did wake up, he was prone to fits of shouting or violence. The first thing he remembered from two nights ago was watching James duck to avoid a cup hurtling towards his head, a cup he had apparently thrown. What was it James had said to him? I’m worried that one night, they’re going to call me and I’m not going to be able to calm you down. I’m worried you’re going to hurt someone, or maybe even yourself. 

“What are you getting at?” he asked quietly. Atwood shifted, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward.

“I can tell that you love your husband very much,” he said. “You said it yourself, the whole reason that you’re here is because he asked you to be. But I also know you’re angry about that. Wouldn’t you ask him to do the same thing, if he were in your position?”

Anthony stared at him. The man was right, of course he bloody was, but he wasn’t about to admit that to him. If James was having nightmares constantly then yes, he probably would tell him to speak to somebody. 

“I don’t like this,” he mumbled. Atwood laughed. 

“Nobody does at first. You learn to, though.”

***

“Okay, but what about the wedding rings?” Pat blurts. Anthony turns to him, frowning.

“What about what rings?” he asks. The group all look at each other in alarm then.

“The Captain, uh… he hasn’t worn a wedding ring since we found out about you,” Alison says. She gestures to his hand. “You’re wearing yours, but…”

She trails off, stepping back. It’s clear that she’s worried she’s uncovered some big conspiracy, and keeps glancing over to Julian. Perhaps that had been Julian’s argument, Anthony reasons. Either that or she thinks that James is having an affair, and is looking towards the man that had once been caught by the Daily Mail with not one, but two secretaries at the Christmas party for confirmation of this. Reaching into his top pocket, he digs through for a moment and pulls out the ring.

“You mean this ring?” he says, holding it up. The group let out a collective sigh of relief.

“But why?” Pat asks.

***

Great Western Hospital Swindon, 2016

“Where’s my wedding ring?” James asked.

Anthony had been on the verge of nodding off. It was almost seven in the evening, and visiting hours were ending in an hour or so. He’d been up since silly-o’clock, mainly due to a nightmare which had left him too scared to go back to sleep. Whilst Martin was being kind enough to keep him away from the recruits for now, that unfortunately meant that his days were being filled up with paperwork so dull it made him want to bang his head against his desk. Since getting to the hospital just after five, he and James had been sitting in comfortable silence, quite happy with just being there together. The ICU wasn’t exactly conducive to a decent sleep, but for the past half an hour Anthony had been fighting the urge to drop off. 

“Hm?” he said as he opened his eyes, raising his head to look at his husband. James frowned at him a little. 

“Did I wake you up?”

“No, no,” Anthony said quickly. Technically he wasn’t lying. He had still been awake, if only barely. He blinked a little, trying to stop his eyelids from feeling so heavy. “What did you say, love?”

“My wedding ring,” James repeated. He raised his hand a little. In the madness of it all, Anthony had entirely forgotten about the ring. When he’d gotten to the hospital that first awful night, somebody had handed him a bag with James’ things, his phone and whatnot, that had his wedding ring in it. “Where is it?”

Anthony smiled at him then. Sitting up a little straighter, he reached into his top pocket and pulled out the ring. 

“It’s no screw,” he joked. It seemed to take a lot of effort, but James rolled his eyes at him. Reaching forward, Anthony took his hand and gently slipped the ring back onto his finger. “I’ve not let it go since they gave it back to me.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I couldn’t be here with you all the time. This felt like a nice way to feel like you were home with me.” 

“That’s nice,” James murmured. He was getting tired, Anthony could tell. He’d been awake since Anthony had arrived, one of the longest periods that he’d been awake so far. 

“You can go back to sleep, love,” Anthony said. 

“No, no,” James said quickly, but his words were mostly obscured by a yawn. Anthony suppressed a smile. “You’re here for another hour.”

“I don’t mind sitting here and watching you sleep.”

James frowned at him. 

“Strange man,” he muttered. Anthony laughed then, reaching forward and gently shoving his husband’s leg.

“Oi! I know for a fact you watch me sleep sometimes.”

“Yes, well, you’re very pretty when you sleep,” James replied matter-of-factly. He was yawning again, though. Leaning forward, Anthony reached up and rested a hand on his head. 

“Go on,” he said. “Go back to sleep, now everyone knows you’re taken again.”

“Lucky me,” James murmured, his eyes already sliding shut.

***

“You see?” Anthony says. Everyone is staring at him, their mouths agape and their eyes wide. “Now, every time one of us goes away overnight, the other will take the ring.”

“That’s… actually very romantic,” Pat reasons. 

Anthony glances at his watch. It’s been almost twenty minutes, and knowing how much his husband values punctuality, James will no doubt be walking through that door any second now. 

“I just have one question,” he says quickly. The group nods. “Who won the bet?” 

They’re murmuring now, glancing between each other. 

“Well…” Pat says.

“Er…” Thomas manages.

“Um…” Kitty whispers. 

“No-one, I guess,” Alison tells him after a moment. “Given we all betted on you… you know…”

She trails off, embarrassed. Julian steps forward then. 

“Ah!” he announces. Anthony rolls his eyes. “I believe that my official bet, as it were, was on him never admitting it. Therefore, one could argue…”

“But he exist!” Robin complains. “You say he not real!”

“Ah, Robin, actually, as I think you’ll find…”

This, of course, sets off a whole flurry of arguments, just as James and Barry step back into the office. James is staring at him in alarm, and Anthony can’t help but chuckle as he walks over to him. 

“What on earth did you say to them all?” James asks as Anthony comes to a stop. 

“Oh, nothing much,” Anthony replies. “I simply asked who won the bet.”

“Oh good Lord. They’ll be at this for hours, you know.”

“I’m betting on it.”

They smile at each other. Shyly, James reaches over and takes his hand. Six months apart has been far too long.

“Come on,” Anthony says, smiling. “Let’s go home.”