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fan_flashworks2022-03-18 12:35 pm
squidgiepdx) wrote in fan_flashworks2022-03-18 12:35 pm
Entry tags:
Ghosts (BBC): Fanfic: Hiding Away
Title: Hiding Away
Fandom: Ghosts (BBC)
Rating: General Audiences
Length: 887 Words
Content notes: For the fan-flashworks prompt "reverse". Also for trope-bingo square "diary/journal".
Author notes: Not betaed! Pre-slash for The Captain/Lieutenant Havers. I've also appropriated The Captain's name from other fandom works (though I secretly hope his character's name is Theodore!)
Summary: The Captain knew the horrors of war. So why had the world, peaceful since 1918, slipped into fighting again?
The horrors of warfare were forever entombed in Theodore's mind, and he wondered how the world could be at it again. He'd served during World War I and, at just 18, had seen the laughing, jovial bodies of his fellow soldiers reduced to nothing more than meat and blood. Even after peace was achieved, images of thick crimson liquid and the stench of iron-smelling earth chased him into sleep. They colored his dreams with shrapnel and loss, often causing him to start in the wee hours of early morning, drenched in sweat. It was a miracle he could ever rest.
He was sure that the world would never dissolve into Hell once the fighting was finally over. But it'd barely been a decade before war broke out again. It was as if the world was reversing, sliding back into madness.
The tension clustered in his temple made the small print of The Times almost blend together into a nonsensical jumble of words in the dimmed light. As the sun began to chase away the darkness with pinks and yellows of a new day, he rubbed his forehead as if his fingers could dispatch the pain. He took a deep breath and finished the news article about countless lives lost from yet another Luftwaffe barrage of bombs. The press had decided to call this attack The Blitz. It'd been going on for weeks now, with no end in sight. And with each bomb that dropped, countless Londoners died. People who were never meant to be part of the war - not like he'd seen in France and Belgium. These people were trying to live their lives.
Theodore knew better than trying to make sense of war, even as a Captain in His Majesty's Army. His job was to train new officers, to set them on the path that would lead Britain to victory. But even as officers rotated through his command, he felt helpless about their future. He often wondered if they would be as lucky as he had been, returning from Belgium to his family home in Bristol. And he wondered, once returned from war, if their dreams would, too, be tinged with blood and death.
Theodore took a deep breath, hoping it would settle his nerves, as he opened his private notebook and began jotting down whatever came to his mind. He thought back to being home from Belgium in 1918, hoping that the familiar walls and habits would soothe him. Instead, he found himself lost within the torturous memories of the battlefield. So one night, trying to stave off the horrors of his dreams, he turned to journaling and quickly found that it helped bring him solace. At Button House, he found he was once again alone with the phantasmagoria of his thoughts, so he took up journaling again. Usually, it was nothing more than thoughts about the week or lists of accomplishments from the Button House 11. The subject rarely mattered; the escapism of putting words to paper was one of the only things that made him hopeful for the future.
A knock on the door took him out of his thoughts, and the face he found gazing back at him nearly took his breath. Lieutenant Havers. Not only was he a bright smile amid the melancholic reality of war, but he was also one of those that could help rally Theodore's mood. With a kind act or just a smile, Havers had a way to give those around him something positive to focus on.
"Captain," Havers said with an easy smile, then shouldered open the door, two cups of tea in hand. Theodore closed his journal, locking that part of him away, and reached out for the proffered cup. Havers glanced over the desk and nodded to The Times. "I'm assuming you've not had your tea yet, sir?"
Theodore took a sip, the hot, sweet tea warming him from the inside. He hadn't realized he was parched until that moment, though if he were honest, Havers's dimpled cheek, strong chin, and kind eyes often caused his throat to dry. "Excellent, Havers," Theodore said, his Captain voice. "Please," he said as he gestured with his free hand. His office wasn't too large, but when Havers had been assigned to Button House, Theodore made room for the extra chair. He told himself it was to do with expediency and efficiency since he and Havers spent so much time working together. But his heart, often thrumming with want in Havers's presence, told another tale.
Havers took a seat and smiled as their knees knocked together under the desk. After a quick rearrangement of their long legs, Theodore once again felt the warmth of Havers's leg against his own.
Havers looked up at him through his thick eyelashes. "Everything okay, sir?" he asked, his voice barely louder than the din of the outside world.
Ignoring his rapidly beating heart, Theodore relaxed as he let his leg rest against his lieutenant's. "Yes, William," he said, voice quiet as he took another sip of tea. He felt his face flush but tried to ignore it - just this once. Amid everything wrong in the world, he told himself he could have this. Maybe just this one moment of calm and want, as the battling world fell away from them.
Fandom: Ghosts (BBC)
Rating: General Audiences
Length: 887 Words
Content notes: For the fan-flashworks prompt "reverse". Also for trope-bingo square "diary/journal".
Author notes: Not betaed! Pre-slash for The Captain/Lieutenant Havers. I've also appropriated The Captain's name from other fandom works (though I secretly hope his character's name is Theodore!)
Summary: The Captain knew the horrors of war. So why had the world, peaceful since 1918, slipped into fighting again?
The horrors of warfare were forever entombed in Theodore's mind, and he wondered how the world could be at it again. He'd served during World War I and, at just 18, had seen the laughing, jovial bodies of his fellow soldiers reduced to nothing more than meat and blood. Even after peace was achieved, images of thick crimson liquid and the stench of iron-smelling earth chased him into sleep. They colored his dreams with shrapnel and loss, often causing him to start in the wee hours of early morning, drenched in sweat. It was a miracle he could ever rest.
He was sure that the world would never dissolve into Hell once the fighting was finally over. But it'd barely been a decade before war broke out again. It was as if the world was reversing, sliding back into madness.
The tension clustered in his temple made the small print of The Times almost blend together into a nonsensical jumble of words in the dimmed light. As the sun began to chase away the darkness with pinks and yellows of a new day, he rubbed his forehead as if his fingers could dispatch the pain. He took a deep breath and finished the news article about countless lives lost from yet another Luftwaffe barrage of bombs. The press had decided to call this attack The Blitz. It'd been going on for weeks now, with no end in sight. And with each bomb that dropped, countless Londoners died. People who were never meant to be part of the war - not like he'd seen in France and Belgium. These people were trying to live their lives.
Theodore knew better than trying to make sense of war, even as a Captain in His Majesty's Army. His job was to train new officers, to set them on the path that would lead Britain to victory. But even as officers rotated through his command, he felt helpless about their future. He often wondered if they would be as lucky as he had been, returning from Belgium to his family home in Bristol. And he wondered, once returned from war, if their dreams would, too, be tinged with blood and death.
Theodore took a deep breath, hoping it would settle his nerves, as he opened his private notebook and began jotting down whatever came to his mind. He thought back to being home from Belgium in 1918, hoping that the familiar walls and habits would soothe him. Instead, he found himself lost within the torturous memories of the battlefield. So one night, trying to stave off the horrors of his dreams, he turned to journaling and quickly found that it helped bring him solace. At Button House, he found he was once again alone with the phantasmagoria of his thoughts, so he took up journaling again. Usually, it was nothing more than thoughts about the week or lists of accomplishments from the Button House 11. The subject rarely mattered; the escapism of putting words to paper was one of the only things that made him hopeful for the future.
A knock on the door took him out of his thoughts, and the face he found gazing back at him nearly took his breath. Lieutenant Havers. Not only was he a bright smile amid the melancholic reality of war, but he was also one of those that could help rally Theodore's mood. With a kind act or just a smile, Havers had a way to give those around him something positive to focus on.
"Captain," Havers said with an easy smile, then shouldered open the door, two cups of tea in hand. Theodore closed his journal, locking that part of him away, and reached out for the proffered cup. Havers glanced over the desk and nodded to The Times. "I'm assuming you've not had your tea yet, sir?"
Theodore took a sip, the hot, sweet tea warming him from the inside. He hadn't realized he was parched until that moment, though if he were honest, Havers's dimpled cheek, strong chin, and kind eyes often caused his throat to dry. "Excellent, Havers," Theodore said, his Captain voice. "Please," he said as he gestured with his free hand. His office wasn't too large, but when Havers had been assigned to Button House, Theodore made room for the extra chair. He told himself it was to do with expediency and efficiency since he and Havers spent so much time working together. But his heart, often thrumming with want in Havers's presence, told another tale.
Havers took a seat and smiled as their knees knocked together under the desk. After a quick rearrangement of their long legs, Theodore once again felt the warmth of Havers's leg against his own.
Havers looked up at him through his thick eyelashes. "Everything okay, sir?" he asked, his voice barely louder than the din of the outside world.
Ignoring his rapidly beating heart, Theodore relaxed as he let his leg rest against his lieutenant's. "Yes, William," he said, voice quiet as he took another sip of tea. He felt his face flush but tried to ignore it - just this once. Amid everything wrong in the world, he told himself he could have this. Maybe just this one moment of calm and want, as the battling world fell away from them.