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Chapter Text

"Private Blythe?"

Tommy turned. "Yes," he replied, quickly tagging on the "Sir," when he caught sight of the insignia on the man's lapel.

"You're to report to the Field Hospital over in Marston."

"Sir?"

"No idea, Private," the Lieutenant replied. "You've been issued with travel papers, you'll need to collect them from the Master Sergeant." He smiled. "Nothing to worry about I'm sure. You're discharging in a few weeks correct?

Tommy nodded. He wasn't sure yet how he felt about his eminent freedom. Possibly it hadn't sunk in yet. Probably because he hadn't really let himself think about it in too much detail yet. There was something still unreal about it, so much so that until he was in civvies he wouldn't quite believe that his feet were on solid ground. So until then he wasn't giving it much thought.

"Our paths haven't crossed much but I recognised your name from the most recent discharge list. You've been in the war from the start I believe."

"Yes, Sir. 1940."

The other man nodded. "Dunkirk?" he asked voice going slightly quieter.

Tommy nodded and saw the recognition and understanding pass through his eyes. The Lieutenant nodded again, once, a short sharp motion.

"Good man." He stuck out his hand. "If I don't see you before you leave, all the best,"

Tommy shook his hand, feeling the firm grip. "Thank you, Sir. And you."

He picked up his papers, thanking the receptionist who went over his literary. There was no information for why he'd been summoned. Only that one of the Doctors there had requested the presence of a Private T Blythe, 2nd Hampshire Regiment.

Tommy couldn't think what it could be about. As far as he knew he didn't know anyone who was currently invalided there.

The train to Marston took most of the afternoon but Tommy didn't mind. The gentle sway and huff of the carriage and the engine was relaxing. It reminded him of safety. He didn't drop off to sleep but it was a close thing.

The only drawback was the memories train journeys evoked. If he wasn't distracted by travelling companions or other passengers - the train today was practically empty - then his mind was wont to wonder. It used to make him unbearably sad. It still did, although now he was able to control the rush of feelings and memories that train travel brought.

That train journey north at the end of May 1940 was seared into his memory. The whole period before that was indelibly etched into his brain of course. There was a part of him that would still be thinking of all that happened in those weeks, hell, months before his eventual evacuation, right up to the moment he passed from this world to the next. But that train journey was a moment in time when the realisation had hit him.

Realisation of what he'd just been through, realisation of what he'd found and...realisation of what he'd lost.

He took a deep breath and focused on the passing green fields passing by the window.

The emotions that had risen to the surface on that six hour train journey north had knocked him down hard.

And he'd never really moved past that for all that he'd tried. Oh he was functioning on a daily basis. He did his job; woke in the morning, ate breakfast, performed his duties, ate dinner and went to bed. Got up the next day and did the same. But there was no enjoyment there. Nothing more than an recognition of what he needed to do to get from one day to the next.

The war was a major factor. He'd spent five of his formative adult years fighting for King and country. Seeing and doing things that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. He was tired. Disillusioned and exhausted with his life. Once he was discharged, well, he wasn't sure what he was going to do yet actually. Go back to his family home and see what work he could find but there was a part of him that didn't want to go back to London. Didn't want to go back to a life that he wasn't sure he fit into anymore. Wanted to fit into.

And there was a part of him that was always waiting. A part that had never stopped the watching that he'd started on that train journey to safety.

Which was ridiculous because what he was waiting for he was never going to find. What he was waiting for had died during a frantic attempt to escape that hell. What he was waiting for, what he wanted, was lying at the bottom of the channel.

Was something that he was never going to see again and although the rational part of his brain knew that, there was another small part of him that refused to let go. Refused to let go of the irrational yet soul deep connection that he'd formed on that beach in northern France.

He leant his head against the glass, closing his eyes as memories overtook him.

The softness of his lips, the warmth of his skin, the feel of his cheek against his. A scant moment captured in the sand dunes during the hidden darkness of night had been enough to change the course of his life forever.

He'd always been aware that he wasn't like other boys when it came to sex and love. But anything other than marrying the nice girl next door hadn't ever come into his sphere of thinking. It was what was expected, anything else wasn't even a consideration. A part of him that was deeply buried knew that, if he were honest it wasn't girl's bodies that he looked at but those of men. At one time he would have been content to marry the girl next door and produce the expected litter of children but now... There was no way that he could live his life with that sort of subterfuge. He doubted he would ever have the confidence to explore the other side to himself but after tasting and experiencing the emotions he had that night he wouldn't ever be able to put up with anything less than the truth. He'd rather live alone that live a lie.

He'd shed tears. Oh had he shed tears. Once he'd eventually found solitude away from his fellow comrades, he'd allowed the grief to materialise. Had poured out enough anguish and pain that he thought he'd never stop crying, the force of his misery unbearable.

The pain remained as well. It had lessened as the years had passed until it was a dull lump that rested at the bottom of his heart. The connection that had formed between them in such a short space of time still amazed him, never failed to take his breath away. He had people he'd known for most of his life who he didn't feel even a fifth of the bond he'd felt with that curly haired man in the sand dunes.

The jerk of the carriage and the shout of the guard broke his reverie and with a weary sigh he picked up his cap and made to exit the compartment he'd taken. The platform was practically empty, only a couple of people had got off the train with him. A man who was already heading over the footbridge and a lady who was heading towards the ticket office. Adjusting his coat and doing up the buttons he walked down towards where the sign said exit.

After a quick scout around and speaking to the ticket master he'd set off along the country lane towards the small village. The hospital was based in the local manor house, as so many had during the war. Space and need had taken over and like during the Great War, a great many big houses had given over space to help out with the war effort, to help those men who had fought and come home in less than full pieces. Mentally as well as physically.

It was a pleasant walk. The sun was out and there was a cool breeze that gently blew in his face. Stopping for ten minutes to lean against a gate, Tommy gazed out over the expanse of green rolling fields that spread in front of him. Closing his eyes for a long moment he enjoyed the quiet peace. Maybe he'd come somewhere like this when he was discharged. Find some outdoor labouring on a farm. There was something appealing about working in the open air. He took a long lungful of fresh air.

The house was large when he eventually arrived. The drive long and intimidating as it wound it's way through large gardens that had at one time been well manicured. Upkeep had obviously not been at the forefront of importance but to Tommy it still looked good. Wild and free rather than constrained. He liked it.

The nurse on the front desk looked harassed but friendly. She looked up at him with clear blue eyes, a folder in one hand, a mug in the other and a sheaf of newspaper under her left arm.

"Yes?" she said.

Tommy gave a polite smile. "Private Blythe. I was asked to report to Doctor Hampton?"

Her eyes widened slightly and she put the mug down, hand reaching up for the pen tucked behind one ear.

"Oh yes, Private Blythe, thank you for coming. Just sign in the visitors book and I'll...." she thrust the pen at him and dithered for a moment before eventually dropping the newspaper from under her arm and reaching for the phone on the side of the desk. "I'll call Dr Hampton." She glanced up at the wall clock. "He should have finished rounds by now."

Tommy smiled and scratched his name and signature on the next clear line in the book. The nurse, holding the receiver to her ear, nodded a thank you and then gestured to the chairs by the wall with a smile. He wandered over and sat, clutching his hat between hands.

She hung up the phone. "Dr Hampton will be with you in about five minutes. Would you like a tea?" she smiled.

Tommy nodded. "That would be nice, thank you. If it's not too much trouble."

"No, it's fine. I was about to put the kettle on for afternoon rounds. I can sneak an extra one in," she grinned. "Milk and sugar?"

Tommy nodded. "Thank you."

Twenty minutes later a man in his early fifties came hurrying down the hallway from the back of the house. Kind grey eyes darted around the foyer and lit on Tommy, a broad smile crossing his face. A hand came out immediately.

"Private Blythe?"

Tommy nodded, returning the firm hand shake.

"Thank you so much for coming out here. And sorry for the delay, we had an incident on ward two that I had to discuss with a colleague."

Tommy shook his head in understanding. "It was no trouble. I had tea to keep me comfortable," he smiled.

"Ah, yes, Silvia makes a marvellous cup of tea," Hampton grinned over at the nurse who had just popped out of the side office with a mug in hand. She smiled and handed it to the Doctor who took it with a grateful, "thank you." He turned and held out a hand. "Please come with me."

Tommy followed the older man down the hallway he'd originally come from, their steps automatically aligning as they drew level.

"I'm sure you're wondering why we asked you to come," Hampton said taking a sip of his tea. "Do please excuse this," he held up the mug, "sometimes it's necessary to refuel on the go." He gestured to a door on the right, pausing to let Tommy walk in ahead of him. "We have a patient here who we've not been able to identify," he carried on as they walked down what had once been some sort of long gallery.

Tommy frowned. "He has no dog tags?"

"Unfortunately not. He was picked up along with a group of prisoners of war from a camp in northern France."

"The other men didn't know who he was?"

"No, he wasn't from any of the other units that had been imprisoned there."

"They other men didn't speak to him?"

"He doesn't speak."

Tommy's footsteps faltered slightly. "At all?"

Hampton gave him a sideways look and shook his head. "And not a word since he's been here." He put his tea down on the desk they stopped by.

Tommy took a breath. Combat fatigue was common. The number of men he had seen in the past few years that were mere shells of who they were was immeasurable. "And you think I know this man?"

"He had a small notebook on him. We weren't able to see it for a while but one of the nurses managed to get a look at the inscription and noticed a name."

"It's not his?"

"We thought at first it might be, but when we did a search we found it to be yours."

"Oh."

Dropping his gaze, Tommy struggled to think through the sudden noise in his head.

Hampton cleared his throat. "Do you remember the notebook? Do you know who might have ended up with it?"

"I...," Tommy faltered. "I don't know."

In his head there were flashes of images. Quick pictures that flitted past his mind's eyes too quick for him to process.

...his old small notebook...

...the small broken pencil he used to scratch odd thoughts in it...

...a hand gently flicking through those tightly bound pages...

...fingertips grazing as hands bumped close...

...foreheads touching as they bent together to look...

"Let's go and take a look, shall we?" Hampton said, watching him keenly. "If we can identify him, we can get word to his family."

Tommy's eyes shot back up to the Doctor's, jolted from his memories.

"We've all grown fond of the young man since he got here. We care for all the men who come into our care but this one has, well," the Doctor's face grew serious, "he's caught our hearts a little bit more."

Tommy nodded, not trusting his voice.

It seemed miles, the walk back out of the small office they'd ended up in, back down towards the rear of the house. More long hallways and through a large room that Tommy guessed must have been a elegant and impressive dining room at one point. Now it was filled with iron beds and tables, interspersed with privacy screens and scatterings of chairs.

"This is, or was our triage centre for a while," Hampton explained as they walked down the window side of the room. "It's not really used much as most of our men come here for long term care now. Emergency treatment is dealt with by the overseas stations for the most part. We're more for rehabilitation."

Tommy nodded silently, eyes taking in the few men who were lounging on cots on the far side of the room, a quiet card game taking their attention.

"Just through here," Hampton gestured with his hand and pushed open a door that led out onto a patio area. Tommy blinked at the sudden increase in light that came with moving from inside the building to bright afternoon sunshine outside. He followed the Doctor who was walking over a patio to a raised lawn area. There were a few chairs and an odd table scattered on the small grassy expanse overlooking the gardens that stretched on for a fair distance. Tommy's gaze followed the view briefly, noting the farmer's fields that bordered the open space, before coming back to a lone figure sat in one of the chairs. He was sat facing away from the two men, swaddled in blankets, a book resting on their lap.

"This is Thomas," Hampton said softly, pausing a few feet away.

Tommy shot a startled look to the Doctor before quickly turning his gaze back to the hunched figure.

"The only other identifying mark we have for him is the registration number the liberation unit gave him when they couldn't find dog tags. 5943 is a rotten name for someone though so Mary, one of our nurses, started calling him Thomas." He grinned. "When we eventually saw the inscription in your notebook it took us back a little, thinking we may have actually guessed correctly."

Tommy didn't reply.

He was staring at the still figure hunched over in the chair.

He moved forward slowly, not taking his eyes off the dark curls. When he was about three foot away, the other figure moved, head tilting as he twisted in the chair. Moving as in a dream, Tommy took another step closer...

...the smell of salt and sulfur in the air...

...the electrical charge as fingers twined...

...the distant sound of the sea breaking against the sand...

...warm lips...

Tommy felt his legs give way as he crumpled to the ground silently eyes never leaving the face of the ghost staring back at him.

Chapter Text

Hampton gave the Private a moment before he went after him. Looking over to where Thomas was sat he could see that he hadn't given much of a reaction to the presence of the other man, other than to stare at him with an expression that the Doctor could only describe as adoration. He gave no other sign that he'd been aware that Blythe had actually been stood there and Hampton surmised that Thomas most likely thought he was hallucinating. He was now leant back in his chair, eyes closed with a small smile playing on his lips.

He gestured over at the nurse who was hovering in the window, to keep an eye on Thomas just in case and took a slow walk towards where the Blythe had disappeared.

Although somewhat shocked by the strength of the soldier's reaction Hampton was pleased. It was as painfully obvious that the man knew Thomas as it was that Thomas knew their visitor. Maybe they would eventually find out the mystery of their silent patient.

Tommy has stumbled away, pushing himself to his feet on hands that wouldn't cooperate and feet that wouldn't stay where they needed to and it was only by a miracle that he made it upright and away without taking liberal amounts of skin from his palms and chunks of material from the knees of his trousers.

He stood now, leant against an old brick wall, trying to reign in the breathing that he knew was close to hyperventilating. Resting his forehead against the rough surface, he closed his eyes and tried to calm the pounding heartbeat in his chest, the nausea in his throat and the panicky feeling rising in his stomach.

The sob of emotion was up and out of his throat before he could suppress it and he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. Turning he slid down the wall to sit on the ground, head bowed and resting on his knees.

Oh God.

It couldn't be.

Could it?

He brought shaking hands up to roughly rub across moist eyes.

Shock. He knew he was in shock. He took a deep breath, trying to regulate his breathing. A part of his brain reminded him that the Doctor would be coming to look for him soon and he needed to pull himself together. He was a soldier in the King's army and he needed to start acting like it.

Pulling in and then letting out a deep breath he shakily pushed himself up onto his feet until he was leaning back against the wall. Although still not supporting all of his own weight, at least he didn't look as if he were in the middle of a panic attack.

A few moments later, as expected he heard the soft footsteps of the Doctor approaching. They stopped and there was a polite pause before, "Can we get you a drink? Another tea or maybe something stronger?"

Tommy sucked in a still slightly shaky breath before shaking his head. He paused, frowned and then nodded. "Please." He looked up and met the Doctor's eyes then, reading the genuine concern. "Sorry," he offered.

"Not to worry, young man," Hampton said with a soft smile. "Honestly." He nodded to a nearby door. "Let's go to my office. I have a bottle of something in my bottom draw. For emergencies only you understand," he said with a conspiratorial wink.

Tommy gave a small nod.

"I'm assuming by both of your reactions that you do know Thomas," Hampton began after they'd both got settled in a small room on the second floor. It had one window that overlooked the rear gardens, a desk that was pretty much hidden in folders, books and papers and a plethora of chairs, also covered in paper. He'd hastily moved a pile so that Tommy could sit before picking up two tumblers from a cabinet at the back of the room and pouring them two small fingers each from a bottle he retrieved from the bottom of the same cabinet. When Tommy took a sip it almost took his breath. He felt the welcome warmth spread down his throat and into his chest, his body starting to relax incrementally.

Letting the glass dangle from his fingers he nodded. "I do."

"May I ask how?"

Tommy swallowed. "We were on the beaches at Dunkirk together."

Hampton's eyebrows raised. "He was in your unit?"

"No," Tommy shook his head. "We literally met on the beach. I..." He paused for a moment, half loosing himself in memory as his mind returned to that deserted street before all hell had let loose. He wet his lips. "I was the only survivor from my unit. We managed to get within a few streets of the beach before we were ambushed. I got through but I was the only one."

Hampton nodded but didn't interrupt.

"I got down to the sand and that's where I saw him."

"Thomas?"

Tommy nodded. "We were both on our own, without our units, so I think we just naturally stuck with each other. For safety." He paused for a long moment. "We were there for three days before I managed to get a boat." Tommy felt his hand start to tremble and quickly shoved it under his thigh.

"Only you?" Hampton asked, picking up on the singular.

Tommy nodded and took another quick sip of his drink. "We almost made it off on the first day in one of the destroyers but it got torpedoed."

Hampton's expression showed his shock and dismay, but Tommy, his gaze far away in his own mind didn't see.

"We made it back to the beach, thanks to..." he paused, eyes flicking up to meet the Doctor's before continuing in a voice laden with emotion, "Gibson." He watched as the Doctor absorbed the name. "He threw Alex and I, another lad we'd met earlier, he threw us a rope from the rescue boat he'd managed to get on. He'd stayed on deck, instead of coming down below with the rest of us, so he'd managed off into the water quicker, managed to get picked up. They wouldn't, couldn't take us, no more room you see. But Gibson unfurled the rope so we could hang on. Got us back onto dry land, quicker than if we'd have had to tread water for another boat."

He swiped two fingers across his eye, rubbing the moisture and grittiness away.

"Gibson?" Hampton queried gently after a few moments.

Tommy nodded. "I don't know his first name, I'm afraid. I saw his dogtags, when we were on the beach. He...," Tommy looked up from under his lashes, "...he didn't speak back then," he said carefully.

"Oh." Hampton was clearly surprised.

Tommy bit his lip, mind working about how much he could say. There was something that was telling him he could trust Hampton but he had to protect Gibson. He didn't know what the Doctor would do if he found out that his patient was a French soldier not an English one and he couldn't risk finding out. There was a feeling growing in his chest reminding him that he had just found the other man. It was a feeling that was growing stronger by the minute.
It was a miracle. Simple as that. There was no way he was letting anything, or anyone, get between them.

Not now.

"What happened?" the Doctor asked, "Did he not he make it onto the boat that you did?"

Tommy bit his lip again, eyes closing in pain. "No," he said after a moment's pause. "We stayed on the beach for a day before we met up with some men from the Highlander's. They tried to use a small fishing boat to get off the beach." He stared hard at the floor. "It was a mistake," he ground out quietly. "Most of us managed to get off before it went down, but..."

"You thought he'd drowned."

"Yes." Tommy finished the last of his drink, startled to realise he'd got through it so quickly. He slid the glass onto the table next to him with a small cough. "It was mayhem in the water. We were near another destroyer that had been hit. There was oil in the water and stukas still flying overhead. I only just managed to get out and to the surface." He rubbed the corner of his eye again. "I thought he'd got trapped in the boat. He wasn't there. He wasn't in the water, he wasn't in the rescue boat, he...." his voice trailed off, embarrassed by the emotion he was showing.

"It's not your fault," Hampton observed quietly.

"I know that," Tommy bit out with more force than he intended. He flicked his eyes up to the Doctor in apology. The Doctor gave a slight wave of his hand indicating that he took no offence.

Tommy took a breath. "I thought he'd gone down in that boat."

"But he didn't."

Tommy looked up at the Doctor who was watching him with a small warm smile. "No," he said gently, a smile beginning to play on his own lips.

Hampton put his glass down and patted the desk top. "So, his name is Gibson then? But no idea of his first name?"

Tommy shook his head.

"Or his unit?"

Again, a shake of his head.

"Ah well, never mind. We're closer than we were yesterday," he said with a smile. "I take that as a win."

"How...how did he get here?" Tommy asked. It was a question that had been burning inside of him since the moment he'd seen the other man but hadn't realised in all the shock. Now that he had recounted the story to the Doctor, the realisation that Gibson had actually survived, hadn't gone down with that stupid rat trap of a boat was sinking in and along with that that the questions what had happened to him were now beginning to rise. His mind kept going back to that time in the boat, in the water. The confusion and the fear, the smell of oil and the shouts of men. He'd only just made it onto the Moonstone before the oil had caught fire. How had Gibson survived?

Hampton scratched his temple. "As far as we know he was in a prisoner of war camp in France, that's where he was liberated from before he was brought back to England. We don't know how long he was there but from what the other soldier's he was at the camp with said, and from what you've just told me I would guess it was probably from not long after you last saw him."

"Five years," Tommy said softly, the horror in his voice unmistakable. "Jesus."

Hampton sighed softly. "Not an uncommon story I'm afraid." He finished his own drink and placed the glass back on the desk. He met Tommy's eyes and took a breath. "Physically he's stable. He's malnourished, his well under weight from what he should be and he's got a gammy leg from where it was set wrong at some point. He was suffering from a rather bad case of pneumonia when he was liberated, probably not the first I suspect and which has left his lungs in a pretty terrible state but there's nothing there that will kill him. Unless he doesn't start to eat of course," Hampton sighed. "But emotionally, he's a ghost."

Tommy stared at him, mind trying to absorb all that the Doctor had rattled off so quickly.

"Like most of the men who come here, Private Blythe, it's emotional and mental wounds that we try to deal with. The physical injuries will, and have, mostly healed. Sometimes we can help, sometimes...well, sometimes we can't. Thomas...Gibson," he corrected himself with a finger, "he's in there, we know he is. But he's buried. So far down in his own mind it's hard to reach."

'I'll find him,' Tommy vowed mentally to himself. 'He found me, I'll find him.'

"He sits and he stares. He eats....sometimes," Hampton continued, pulling a wry face. "Occasionally he reads but mostly he just sits, lost in his own head."

"What can I do?" Tommy asked.

"It was obvious that he recognised you," Hampton said, smiling when he saw Tommy's surprise. "I was watching. He knew you. Whether he realised you were actually there I don't know, but he recognised you."

The itch started under Tommy's skin. "Can I....?" Tommy started, already pushing himself to his feet.

Hampton smiled. "Of course. Lets go see if we can convince him that you're here and not the hallucination that I think he thought you were." He got up and moved towards the door. "That reaction was the most we've seen out of him since he got here."

Gibson was still sat in the chair when they came back out onto the patio. The nurse who had been sat nearby, nodded at Hampton and silently disappeared back inside.

Tommy walked up to where Gibson was sat, his stride somewhat hesitant. The other man had slipped asleep, his head tilted to the side, neck at what must have been an awkward angle. Crouching down on his haunches, he laid a gentle hand on Gibson's arm, feeling the warmth of his body through the rough cotton of his light shirt. It made his breath catch slightly.

As soon as his finger's made contact, he felt the other man start slightly, the muscles in his arm twitching as he awoke. Tommy watched as his eyes shot open, gaze dropping to the hand that was resting on his forearm before rising up to the face that it belonged to.

He waited under that gaze, watched as those green eyes went wide, feeling the elation when comprehension fell over the other man's face.

He smiled and held his breath.

Chapter Text

Green eyes were staring at him unblinking. Sat so close, Tommy could hear Gibson's breath, soft at first but then harsher as he started to drew in more breath, quicker. His mouth opened slightly, lips starting to move but no sound emerging.

Tommy rubbed his hand gently up and down Gibson's arm, his other hand coming up to take the thin, cold fingers in his. As he did the air began to whistle in and out of the other man's throat, those slim fingers gripping his own so tight it hurt.

Tommy leant in closer, a gentle smile curving his lips. "Hi," he whispered.

Gibson's breath got faster and louder, his large eyes unblinking as he continued to stare. Tommy waited, patient, his thumb slowly and gently caressing the soft skin between his thumb and finger. He could sense the Doctor standing not far away, on hand if he were needed but keeping a respectable distance and giving them time. Returning Gibson's strangle hold on his hand he slowly took his other hand off his forearm and keeping it in sight, moved it slowly, so slowly towards Gibson's head. Once close enough he touched trembling fingers to the dark curls, so much heavier and longer than they had been the last time he'd seen them.

Soft...god so soft. He teased one with a fingertip, watching all the time the nuances of the other man's expression.

"Hi," he whispered again and was barely prepared for Gibson to launch himself forward suddenly, pushing himself at Tommy. He let out a squeak, he was fairly sure, followed by a 'omph' as the air was knocked out of him but instincts had him catching, gripping and holding onto the slim body as it propelled itself into his arms.

He let out a gasp as he wrapped both his arms around Gibson's skinny frame, burying his face into his neck, taking in a deep breath of a scent he never thought he'd ever smell again. He closed his eyes. There were tears running down his face he knew but he couldn't give a damn. Let the Doctor and nurses think what they wanted. Right now they were going to have a job just getting him to let go. Although feeling the tightness of Gibson's grip as the other man clutched his shirt, he didn't think it was he who would be an issue.

Gibson was practically coming apart in his arms. He could feel the tremors running down his arms and through his body. The short wheezing noises and the wrenching hitch of his chest as he struggled for breath.

"I found you," Tommy breathed into his skin. One hand came up to cup the back of Gibson's head as he held him securely, as tight as he could. "Ssshhh," he whispered softly. "Sshhh." He closed his eyes. "You're alive," he breathed. "I never thought I'd ever see you again." The lump of emotion started to rise in his throat. He felt the press of Gibson's head against his temple. God, he could sit and soak up his warmth forever he thought.

They stayed like that for long while before Tommy gradually became aware of wetness against the skin of his neck. He went to pull back, only a few inches, but was stopped by the frantic grip on his side, fingers digging into skin. Pressing his face against Gibson's cheek, he made more soothing noises before easing back, slower this time.

Gibson's face was red, his eyes swollen and wet and his cheeks streaked with tears as he stared at Tommy. His chest was still heaving, whistling noises from his throat that he seemed almost completely unaware of as he pawed at Tommy's chest and arm. Cradling his face in one hand, Tommy let out a shaky breath.

"What did they do to you?" he asked softly, taking in the sharpness to the other man's face, his jaw line angular, collar bones standing out in sharp relief. As his eyes took in the rest of man he tried to keep the shock and sadness out of his face. Hampton had told him that Gibson was underweight, had not been eating but he was looking at a man that was a ghost of who he'd been.

"Thomas."

Tommy started at the sound of the Doctor's voice before realising that he was addressing Gibson not himself. He looked up to see Hampton had moved closer. Glancing back at Gibson he watched as Gibson's eyes barely flickered, his whole attention riveted on Tommy. The grip on his hand tightened further if that were possible.

"I don't think that is his name," Tommy said with a frown. He looked up. "I'm Thomas," he explained, "or Tommy as Gibson knew me." He looked back to Gibson who had leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Tommy's arm. Bringing up a hand Tommy rested it gently on the back of Gibson's head, his thumb sweeping slowly against his scalp in a soothing, repetitive motion.

Tommy was looking down so missed the warm look that passed over Hampton's face as he took in the two men. He glanced behind him to see if anyone else was looking and was relieved to see that the lounge area was empty, the nurses having moved to get ready for dinner.

"Ah. Yes we need to make sure we start calling him Gibson then," Hampton said with a smile and watched Tommy's head nod.

Hampton glanced at his watch to check the time before clearing his throat gently. "I don't know when you are expected back but would you like to stay and have dinner? It would be interesting to see if your presence might encourage him to eat more than he normally does."

Tommy smiled, looking down at one hand that was still clutched tightly and one arm that was buried under dark curls. "I don't think I'm moving for a while anyway," he grinned. Hampton returned the smile, enjoying the way the other man's face opened up. It was a big change from the polite but reserved young man who had met him at the front desk.

"I'll go and let the kitchen know."

Tommy was slowly starting to realise what Hampton had indicated earlier, regarding Gibson's eating habits and why the other man was still so thin. His small plate with it's meagre portion had initially surprised him until Hampton had explained that with his appetite so low it was easier to try and get him to eat from small portions than try and overload him each time. Every morsel of food they managed to get him to take was a win.

They had settled at a small table in the corner of the room away from the main eating area. There were about twenty or so men in the room but the noise level was low. Gibson had settled in the chair, the short journey from the chair outside to the indoor one exhausting and awkward and had left Tommy with more emotions to process than he quite knew what to do with. Later, he told himself, there would be time later on to allow himself the luxury of examining the knot of grief building in his chest.

Gibson had kept one hand tangled in the cloth of his shirt sleeve as if afraid that if he let go that Tommy would just disappear. Tommy didn't mind. In fact, the touch was calming, grounding him from his own fear that his was in fact dreaming all of this and that he would any minute now wake up and be back in his cot in the barracks. He found the physical connection between them soothing and he was quickly realising that when it did come for him to make the train ride back, he wasn't at all sure how he was going to deal with leaving Gibson behind again.

Watching the other man look at his small plate, he nudged the spoon on the table and when Gibson looked up at him, smiled encouragingly. He watched the flutter of emotions crossing the man's face; fear, trepidation, worry and determination. A slim hand slowly picked up the utensil and brought it to the small helping of scrambled eggs on the plate. Gentle clanking of metal meeting crockery and a shaking spoonful was lifted to his lips. Tommy watched as he took in and then swallowed the food. Shooting him a reassuring smile he turned to where his own food was waiting.

Scrambled eggs, boiled potatoes, some thick slices of ham and runner beans. It was good, sturdy, homely food and to be honest it was making Tommy's mouth water. He'd had breakfast but missed lunch on his journey down, the tea he'd had on arrival the only other thing that had passed his lips that day. Apart from the doctor's whisky and that would probably explain why it had seemed to go straight to his head, he thought with a wry grin.

Trying not to gulp his food, he attacked it with restrained gusto. Having to use his left hand as the right one was currently out of action, slowed his progress anyway. Not looking but aware of Gibson in his periphery he noted with pleasure that the spoon had returned to the plate and continued to with regularity. Gibson's plate although small, had a bit of everything on there, just in much smaller quantities and Tommy's progress, even one handed and with almost three times as much food, meant that he'd finished even before Gibson had managed to get down more than half his plate.

Looking at the other man Tommy could see that he was struggling. Every mouthful was a battle and it hurt to watch. He put down his own fork and placed a gentle hand on Gibson's arm. Tommy wasn't sure how much English Gibson actually understood but when those large eyes met his, he smiled and rubbed his thumb along the warm skin. "Eat what you can," he said softly. "Don't make yourself sick."

Gibson swallowed and gave a shaky nod. His eyes dipped to Tommy's mouth, down to his plate and then back to his own. Three more mouthfuls and then he carefully placed his spoon back to the table. Green eyes flickered up to Tommy's.

"Well done," Tommy said. He placed his own fork down and took Gibson's right in both of his while still allowing room for the grip the other man had on his right sleeve. Everyone else in the room was still eating so they sat together in silence, happy just to be soaking in the other's presence.

After a while the nurse came by and took their plates, Tommy glancing up to see if he could read her expression. From what he could see he thought Gibson had done okay. He squeezed his hand again and felt a returning pressure.

After an indeterminable time Hampton approached the table and Tommy felt himself tensing slightly. Feeling the tension echoed in Gibson's body, he forced himself to relax. He knew the tension was because it was drawing close to when he must leave. A knot of panic was trying to force itself up his throat making him feel sick. He had to leave at some point of course, but there was something so tangible tying him to the man sat next to him that he didn't want to break it. Couldn't break it.

"I hope you enjoyed dinner," Hampton said warmly, sitting across from them.

Tommy nodded. "It was lovely thank you. I managed to miss lunch on the journey here so this was most appreciated."

"Ah good." He glanced around the room where most of the men had now finished and were starting to disperse. "We have a very good cook. At lot of the gardens were turned into extra vegetable plots at the start of the war so we have a very good local supply of food. A lot of the men have been involved in tending them."

"It shows," Tommy smiled.

"I see Gibson ate well," the Doctor beamed at both of them. "That was actually the most he's eaten in one sitting without someone practically trying to force it down him, which we do try to avoid," he shot a warm smile at Gibson, "so I'm very happy."

Tommy's hand was rubbing up and down Gibson's arm unconsciously and when he glanced at Gibson he was pleased to see a shy expression cross his face as his head ducked low.

"If you need to travel back tonight then you'll need to know that the last train out is at six thirty," Hampton said. "We're a small village so they're not as regular as the main towns I'm afraid."

"I hadn't thought about..." Tommy started, eyes darting automatically to where Gibson's head was still down, his whole body having inched as close as possibly given that they were sat on two separate chairs. "I should..." he trailed off helplessly again as Gibson looked up, first at himself and then at the Doctor, the first time he'd made eye contact with the other man, Tommy realised. Breath started to wheeze in and out of his mouth again and Tommy felt his finger's start to tighten their grip again.

"I'd like to thank you again for coming down here," Hampton started. "It's been very helpful and I'll of course keep you updated on what happens to Gibson, if you would like."

Tommy started to nod. Head spinning slightly he wet his lips. "What will happen to him?" he asked.

"Honestly?" Hampton sighed. "This hospital will eventually be disbanded. Probably sooner rather than later. Most of the men here are either well enough or will be well enough to return to their families or to wherever their were before. The house will then be turned back over to the family who own it."

"And those who aren't ready to return?"

Hampton wet his lips and let out a small sigh. "Realistically, any men who aren't deemed ready to return to society will be transferred to the local mental institution."

Tommy let out a noisy breath and was shaking his head almost immediately. "Gibson won't be deemed ready will he?" he said, his tone making it a statement not a question.

Hampton shook his head sadly. "I doubt it. Even though physically he is sound, he's not strong enough to work to support himself or feed himself. He doesn't speak so communication will be limited. I wouldn't be able to confidently sign release papers if I don't think he's of sound mind and body."

Inhaling, Tommy felt his mind spin as thoughts started to run through his mind.

"It was one of the reasons I was hoping to track down family," Hampton said. "It would obviously be much better to be able to receive care and support from family than from the state but unless there is someone who could provide that, I'll have no choice."

Tommy was watching Gibson, his mind furiously working. The other man had sunk in his chair, his face conspicuously blank. Everything about his body language was of someone who had been given something they had been praying for and knew it was going to be taken away.

He bit his lip, thumb absently working across the soft skin of Gibson's hand where he'd not let go, even when the Doctor had sat down.

Could he? He had no plans, nothing set up for himself, could he really take on the extra responsibility of another person as well? Someone with needs that he wasn't sure he would be able to meet. It would be stupid, irresponsible, perhaps even dangerous. On his own, without the support of the army or his family, he wasn't convinced he'd be able to look after himself even.

Yet...

He squeezed Gibson's hand and when large green eyes raised to look at him, met them with a more confident look than he felt.

"I can do that," he said softly, a promise in his eyes. "He can come with me."

Chapter Text

Hampton blinked. Part of him wasn't surprised. Since the minute the young man had walked out onto the back lawn and seen their patient the connection between them had been obvious, however much Blythe had tried not to let it show.

Hampton was not a naive man. He knew, or suspected the nature of their connection,. It didn't bother him though, not as much as he knew it did other people. He was happily married himself but he had a brother who was single and most likely to stay that way. Personally he saw no difference in the love that occurred between two men and the love that occurred between a man and a women. Love was love in his world, particularly at a time when they had seen so much death and horror. But he was aware that there were many others did not share his same opinion.

That was partly why he was slightly surprised at Blythe's offer, innocent as he suspected it was. But looking at the way Gibson had reacted to him and the look of adoration on Blythe's face since the moment he'd come face to face with Gibson, he really shouldn't be. Despite only having know the young man for a few hours it was obvious that Blythe had done more for getting their patient out of his shell than they'd been able to in almost seven weeks.

Since Gibson had arrived there barely a month before, the young man had been silent, introverted and barely responsive. He was calm, polite even but barely concerned with the world around him, barely even aware of it most of the time. He'd never been violent, always agreeable to whatever the nurses wanted him to do, where they wanted him to go, but there was no spark of life in those sorrowful eyes. Nothing that indicated any joy that he was alive. Hampton was used to seeing it in the eyes of his patients, that was why they were sent to Greville House but he never got used to seeing such dullness in the eyes of men so young.

Seeing the depth of emotion shining out of the those previously lifeless eyes had made Hampton's heart beat a little faster. That there may be light at the end of the tunnel for someone who he and the rest of the staff had grown so fond of gave him hope.

He sat down again, from where he'd started to stand. "You are sure?" he asked gently.

Tommy smiled, a small sad curving of his lips. "He saved my life. Twice," he looked back to Gibson who was still looking down, his forehead now pressed against Tommy's shoulder, his whole body rigid. "And that was within the space of twenty four hours." He looked back at the Doctor. "I can't leave him. Not again."

"It's not your fault," Hampton said quietly, aware that Gibson was sat there. "You don't owe him any responsibility."

Tommy smiled, ducking his head slightly and running a soothing hand along Gibson's arm. "I might argue with you there a bit but, it's not like that." He paused. "Well not entirely anyway." He moistened his lips. "I do owe him my life, but it's more than that." He gazed at the Doctor trying to say what he couldn't say out loud .

Hampton nodded, a small confirming gesture. "Okay, then."

By the time Tommy had left that evening a plan had been made. Gibson would stay at the hospital until Tommy's discharge in a little under three weeks. When Tommy was officially a civilian he would come by and collect Gibson and his meagre belongings.

Leaving Gibson had been as difficult as he'd suspected it would be. Both trying to convince himself to walk away and convincing Gibson that he would be back and that he wasn't leaving him again. If there had been tears in his eyes then the Doctor and the nurses had been polite enough not to say anything.

Pressing his forehead to Gibson he'd held on tight. Whispered promises that came easily to his lips. Promises he knew would be difficult to keep but not difficult to attempt.

"I don't know how much you understand now," he said, a small query in his tone. "but I have to go now." He hadn't known how much English Gibson had known back on the beach or how much he'd managed to pick up in the last five years, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he felt Gibson's body tense, his grip on Tommy's hand and arm tightening painfully. His head had begun to shake 'no,' a desperate look on his face.

"I promise you I will come back for you." He cupped Gibson's hands, running his fingers over the pronounced knuckles and joints. "I'm going to leave now, but I'll be back in just under three weeks. Eighteen days," he confirmed, having already counted the days in his head. "And then if you want, you can come with me."

He said the last softly, nervously, even now not knowing if the other man would actually want to come with him. Despite his reaction to Tommy today, there was nothing Tommy would ever take for granted. Not again. "You don't have to...." he started, even knowing what the other option would most likely be, but needing Gibson to know he had other options.

Tommy needn't have worried, Gibson was already nodding his head. He closed his eyes briefly before meeting Tommy's gaze, eyebrows drawing together in frustration. He pulled one hand back from Tommy's and tapped it on his chest then tapped it against Tommy's, eyes wide and hopeful.

Tommy's felt both tears and joy rise up his throat and he smiled and nodded. The smile Gibson returned was small but softened the whole of his face, emotion and trust shining out of his expression like a beacon.

On the train ride back Tommy hadn't been able to keep still, or keep the smile off his face. One leg had started jiggling up and down with nervous energy and at some point he realised he may need to find a open field somewhere and just scream out his elation. He felt happy, nervous, elated and scared out of his wits, all at the same time. There was still a small part of him that still expected to wake up any minute but largely he was starting to believe that this was now actually happening. Fingers absentmindedly played with the button that had fallen off Gibson's cuff. Picking it up he slid it in his pocket, at the time not realising why. Now he knew it had been to remind himself it had been real and not a dream.

Where they would go Tommy still had no firm idea but now it wasn't just being himself that he had to worry about, he had some serious planning to do. He felt motivated and more excited for the future in what seemed like years.

Two weeks wasn't long to sort out arrangements and he had a lot to do when he got back to barracks.

Eighteen days later and Tommy was once again on the south bound train, this time in civvies and feeling both terrified and euphoric.

During the time he'd kept in contact with Dr Hampton via letters. He'd not been expecting any back from the busy medic but had been surprised and pleased when he did indeed get two back, reassuring him of Gibson's condition and progress. Hampton had written that he'd shown Tommy's letters to Gibson, further reassurance to the man that Tommy hadn't forgotten him. Tommy had felt so much gratitude for that he wasn't sure how to express it in words.

Saying goodbye to the army life had taken no energy at all. A quick glance around to make sure he'd picked up everything and a quick goodbye to the few mates he hadn't seen in the pub the previous night and that was it. The walk to the train station had felt light, his footsteps beating out a quick, rhythm against the pavement, echoing the beat in his head. He could feel the smile curving at the sides of his mouth. To anyone who knew him, he knew they might well find it odd. Although not a sullen person by nature, there hadn't been much to smile about in the previous five years. Though both happy and grateful to be alive, Tommy knew he had been not much than a shell of the still fairly quiet but much more positive boy of his youth.

He'd written to say he was hoping be there mid to late morning, catching the early train. He wanted as much time as possible that day after he'd collected Gibson.

It was walking along the country road that led to the house, where he started to feel the first nerves flickering through his body. Up to then the thought of seeing Gibson had been all that he needed to keep both feet and mind moving forward. Now though, as the distance between them decreased, the fluttering butterflies in his stomach were starting to wake up.

His stride faltered and he skittered to a stop. Letting out a shaky breath, he blinked, swaying slightly in the middle of the lane. Green fields rolled up one side and down the other, both dotted by the ambling white shapes of sheep on both. Closing his eyes he sucked in a slow, deep breath, turning his face up to the sunshine.

There was a significance to this moment that was suddenly quite overwhelming. A month ago this wasn't something that was on his radar as a possibility. No, not even not possible, not even feasible. It was like his life had suddenly taken another sharp turn, the same way that it had on the beach, except this one, this one was going to have a happier ending.

For some reason life had decided to give him back Gibson. He didn't know why or what for but there was one thing he was sure about and that was he was never going to leave him behind again.

The nurse he'd met on the first visit there was waiting by the reception desk. The smile on her face was so infectious that Tommy returned it without thought.

"Private Blythe," she greeted. "I believe Dr Hampton is waiting out with Gibson. He said to bring you around to the back patio."

"Thank you," Tommy said moving to follow her as she came around the front of the desk and headed down the large hallway.

"Did you have a good journey here?" she asked.

Tommy nodded.

"We'll be sorry to see Gibson leave," she continued. "I mean, we'll miss him," she said quickly. "Not that we don't want him to leave. We're always really happy when our men are able to leave. We love looking after them but our aim is always to help them get home." She glanced across at him a thoughtful look on her face. "And I think he will be, won't he? Going home that is."

Tommy met her gaze and after a moment's pause, nodded. "Yes, he will be." He glanced down at his feet, feeling the heat brush his cheeks, watching the contrast of his boots against the shiny wooden floor.

"I'm glad," she smiled, warmth shining out of her brown eyes. "Despite being our quietest resident, he's also been the sweetest and the easiest," she said. "Even with all the hurt that he must have gone through, physically and up here." She tapped the side of her head. "You could see it in his eyes," she said with a softly. She glanced over at him kindly. "I don't need to tell you this, but they all carry so much damage in their heads."

He let out his own breath and nodded shakily.

"His held so much," she said sadly. "And he couldn't vocalise it. The others, it doesn't always work but you can at least try and get them to open up, to try and let it out. To try and, not understand it because how you can understand half of what you boys had to see. But to try to at least start to verbalise it. His is all locked away up there still with no outlet."

Tommy nodded. Not that having a voice himself had meant he'd spoken about anything. But he knew what she meant. There were horrors locked in both their heads that would fuel nightmares for years to come, but at least he had to option of screaming it out.

Gibson had been silent since the beach it seemed. Starting out as a method of keeping his identity a secret and had probably continued for that reason after his capture. Five years without a voice at all. For all of his own quietness, Tommy couldn't comprehend it.

Emerging out into the bright sunshine of the gardens, Tommy followed Sylvia as she continued on towards the lawn area where Tommy had first seen Gibson. He could see Dr Hampton sat at one of the tables and next to him was Gibson.

When Dr Hampton raised a hand in greeting he saw Gibson's head jerk up at the motion. He turned in his seat, eyes immediately finding Tommy. Pushing against the arms of the chair he was struggling to his feet before Hampton had a chance to get to his own and help.

Gibson's limp was pronounced as he made his way across the space between them and Tommy found his own footsteps quickening as he all but caught Gibson as he collapsed into Tommy's waiting embrace.

"Hi there," Tommy whispered into his ear before pulling back and grinning at the other man who returned it with a small but heart felt one. One hand came out to touch Tommy's chest once in what Tommy realised was Gibson's silent version of a hello.

Tommy looked over his shoulder to where the Doctor and Sylvia were stood together. "Hello," he greeted, moving over to shake Hampton's hand.

"Private Blythe, good to see you again. Good journey here I trust?"

"It was, thank you," Tommy nodded.

"Well, Gibson here has been waiting since after breakfast this morning so we can definitely say that he's all ready to go."

There was a smile on Hampton's face that was echoed on Sylvia's which made Tommy think that Gibson had probably been up and waiting since before breakfast.

"Where are you heading?" Hampton asked.

Tommy smiled. "North. Cotswolds. A friend of a friend managed to get me some work doing labouring on the farms."

"Excellent. Fresh air and outdoor work, keeps mind and body together. Do let us know how you get on?" he said looking hopeful. "It's always nice to know what happens to our lads when they leave. We, well," he exchanged a look with Sylvia, "we consider them family to be honest." Sylvia nodded fervently.

Tommy nodded. "We will," he promised. "I don't know how long it will take us to settle but as soon as I can I'll write."

"We'd appreciate that," Hampton said.

Tommy looked back at Gibson who was standing close, hand gripping his forearm in a familiar gesture. He smiled."Are you ready to go?"

Gibson smiled and nodded. He let go of Tommy's arm and shuffled over to grab the small bag that had been resting on the ground under the table. Standing back up he looked over at Hampton. After a slight pause he limped forward and looking up at the other man, held out his hand.

Hampton looked shocked, clearly taken aback by the gesture and then smiled widely and taking Gibson's hand, shook it tightly. "Good luck, young man," he said, voice tight with emotion.

Sylvia, hovering on the sidelines took an aborted step forward, clearly wanting to also say goodbye. Gibson closed his eyes, wanting to say something back to Hampton but not having the capacity. Letting out a sigh, he mouthed something and Tommy, standing where he was read the words plainly.

'Thank you.'

Letting go Gibson turned and Sylvia immediately came forward, her own hand stretched out.

"Goodbye, Gibson," she said softly. "We'll be thinking of you."

Gibson let out a small smile and took her hand. Bowing his head he raised her hand up and taking it in both of his placed a kiss to it. Another silent, 'Thank you,' was given before he let go and limped back over where Tommy was stood waiting.

"Are you heading back to the train station?" Hampton asked.

Tommy nodded. "We're booked on the afternoon train north," he said.

Hampton walked forward. "Let us give you a lift," he said. "Matthews has to go up to the post office about now, he can squeeze you in." He looked at Tommy who was already shaking his head. "It's a long way when you've got a bad leg," he said meaningfully and Tommy flushed.

He'd not thought about the long walk back to the train station. Not that long for him but he'd not given any thought to Gibson's leg.

"Thank you," he said quickly. "I hadn't thought...I was going to ask about the local buses..."

Hampton shook his head. "Don't worry, Gibson's pretty good on the leg now aren't you?" he said with a smile at Gibson, who was back next to Tommy, finger's curling into the material of his sleeve.

Gibson nodded and patted his leg, looking at Tommy with an earnest expression.

"But Hampton continued, "it wouldn't hurt to have a bit of extra help. Best not overdo it on the first day of freedom."

Gibson's eyebrows creased but nodded again.

Squeezing in was a correct description Tommy thought with a smirk. Both of them had managed to sit in the cabin next to Matthews, a friendly young man who tipped his cap and gestured for them to get in with a broad smile and laughing voice. Gibson had ended up practically in Tommy's lap, something which he would later look upon with a fair degree of a blush but Tommy gripped both the seat and the back of Gibson's shirt until they were safely pulling up outside the post office in the small village.

Thanking Matthews profusely Tommy helped Gibson and they both clambered out. Grabbing their bags they moved to the pavement watching as the other man grabbed the parcel out of the back of van and with another final tip of his hat headed into the Post Office.

Turning to look at Gibson, Tommy tilted his own head down the street and when Gibson had grabbed onto his sleeve, started the short walk to the train station.

Chapter Text

The walk to the station was short, barely five minutes but Tommy could hear the heavy breaths that Gibson was taking and by the time they arrived on the platform he was pleased to be able to guide Gibson to sit down on one of the platform benches.

Hampton had used Gibson's leg as the excuse to give then a lift and looking at the way the other man walked on it, it had definitely been a good idea. But listening to his breathing Tommy thought that maybe Gibson's chest was the real reason Hampton wanted them to take a lift back to the village. There was a low wheeze coming from his chest and Tommy had the distinct urge to lean over and rub said chest.

Instead he went over and checked on the train, making sure they were on the right platform before coming back to Gibson and sitting down. As soon as he had, Gibson shuffled across, thigh pressing up close. Tommy smiled and pressed back. Bags on their laps, they sat in comfortable silence.

The train journey was long and after an hour or so Tommy felt a weight on his shoulder. Glancing down he saw the top of Gibson's head from where he'd slid sideways across the seat, head coming to rest on Tommy's shoulder in sleep.

He smiled, instinct wanting him to nuzzle down and snuggle up but very aware of the other passengers on the train. They were pretty much on their own at that moment but people had come and gone from the carriage as the train made it's way further north. The train conductor periodically walked up and down and every station they stopped at increased the traffic passing by.

Tommy contented himself with enjoying the warmth and solid feel of Gibson's weight leaning against him. Listening and feeling the comforting, regular rise and fall of his breathing was soothing.

Half an hour later when Gibson woke, Tommy reached over and picked out an apple from the bag that he'd packed and offered it to the still sleepy man, his own half eaten one in his other hand. Taking it with a small smile, Gibson carefully bit into it. It took Gibson almost the next hour to finish but when he eventually put the thin core onto the small bin by the window, Tommy gazed at him with such pride that Gibson ducked his head, tips of his ears darkening slightly. Tommy chuckled and pressed his thigh closer.

Gibson had dozed off again when eventually the train pulled into their station. Tommy shook him gently and together they moved out of the carriage and onto the platform. Similar to the one that they had left back in Marston, it was a small village station, two platforms connected by a small stone bridge over to one side with a brick building housing the ticket office and waiting room on the one side and a small brick shelter on the other.

Tommy glanced around and with a nod at Gibson guided them up the narrow path towards the bridge that would take them up and over to the road. Digging in his pocket his pulled out the piece of paper with the directions and instructions he'd jotted down from his mate down at the Barracks. His contact name was a Mr Adamson and the farm was Raven's Peak, according to Jimmy who had given him the contact. It hadn't taken long to arrange the job with Mr Adamson who, although not a man of many words down the phone had seemed agreeable to taking him on, on the back of the reference from Jimmy. Jimmy had been a farm hand there before the war and had ended up marrying Mr Adamson's daughter Freda so knew that his father in law was looking for new help post war. One conversation and one phone call later and Tommy had secured himself a position as farm hand somewhere in the rural Midlands. A recommendation and second phone call and they had a room to rent.

Peering at the address, he looked around for any landmarks and after a moment's pause, gestured to Gibson to wait by the fence and headed down to the main platform to find the porter he'd noticed when the train had pulled out.

Back onto the road and with instructions on how to find both the farm and the house where they were renting, Tommy felt a familiar touch on his elbow and smiled. Making sure his pace was comfortable for the other man and enjoying the warm sunshine that was beating down on them in the late summer afternoon he led the way down the small county lane.

It was late afternoon by the time they found themselves outside a small wooden gate that read 'Turner's Rise'. A large whitewashed stone house with two floors, what looked like a newer extension to the one side and several outbuildings to the side of that. It was on the far side of the small village they'd walked through and was, it seemed, the last house.

Nudging Gibson who was staring at it with a unreadable expression Tommy swung open the gate and they slowly made there way up the garden path to the stone porch. Knocking the brass door knocker, they waited heard a cheery 'coming' and a few moments later the door swung open to reveal a small elderly lady, wearing an apron covered in what looked to be flour and wearing a friendly smile.

"You must be Mr Blythe, yes?" she said, carrying on with a "come in, come in," at Tommy's nod.

Tommy wiped his shoes on the front mat, hearing Gibson doing the same behind him.

"I've got some tea brewing in the kitchen if you want?" she said cheerfully. "You must have had a long journey up here. "

Tommy nodded and then realising she was already half way to the back of the house and couldn't see him, called out, "Yes, it was and thank you, tea would be lovely."

They followed her up the hallway and through into a large airy kitchen. The smell of baking as strong in the air and as Tommy looked around he spotted a batch of what looked like scones cooling on one counter top and a bowl of batter on another.

"Please excuse the mess, I'm in the middle of doing food for the local school."

Tommy gazed at the various cake tins and the jam jars stacked up on the side. She caught the direction of his gaze. "Jam making," she grinned. "The extra sugar rations are in so we're in a jam making frenzy. Or about to be anyway."

Settling at the large kitchen table, Tommy watched as the slight figure bustled quickly at the stove, the gentle clink of crockery and pouring tea and within moments two cups of tea were placed in front of he and Gibson.

Smiling gratefully, he reached for the milk and then took a long needed sip. Gibson had waited until he had taken his before carefully reaching over and taking his own saucer.

"This is lovely, thank you," Tommy said, enjoying the refreshing drink.

"I'm a big tea drinker, well as much as rations allow," she quirked a sad face.

"Thank you for sharing," Tommy said with feeling.

She grinned and saluted her cup. Tommy grinned back. He had a feeling he was going to like their landlady.

"So you're going to be working over at the old Adamson place are you?" she asked, sitting down opposite.

Tommy nodded. " I am."

"Your friend also?"

Gibson shot a look at Mrs Walthrope and then Tommy.

"Um, no," Tommy said, "...he..." he stumbled slightly, suddenly, startlingly aware that he didn't have a first name to give and 'Mr Gibson' sounded too formal for who he was going to introduce the Frenchman as, "...hasn't been well. After the war you see," he bit his lip, "he's my cousin and I thought it would do him good to bring him with me. For the fresh air and the quiet."

Mrs Walthrope nodded, not giving or seeming to give any indication that she'd noticed the hesitation or lack of proper introduction. "You'll get plenty of both round here," she said with a smile. "Peaceful, quiet and lots of fresh countryside air. We're a good thirty miles away from the nearest town. The fact we have a train station is a blessing as it means we're not as cut off as we would otherwise be. The village has a post office, a general store, butchers, bakers, doctors, everything you need, but we're a very small community. I think you youngsters find it too boring these days."

Tommy glanced over at Gibson. "Boring is exactly what we need," he said with a small smile.

Mrs Walthrope had shown them to their room. Tommy had asked for one room to share; one because he his wages from the farm were not exactly high and two because he didn't want to blow through his savings too quickly. On the phone, Mrs Walthrope had mentioned one of the rooms she rented out had twin beds and he'd immediately asked if they could take that one. She hadn't seemed perturbed by the thought of the two men sharing a room and had readily agreed.

"It's at the back of the house," she said as they stepped inside, "so you won't get disturbed. Not that there's much to disturb you at the front of the house," she added with a chuckle. She pointed out the back window. "Two fields over that way, Adamson's land starts. Rupert Peters land goes up to the hedge line there," she moved her hand to the right, "so pretty much all we hear this side of the property are sheep and cows."

"Perfect," Tommy said as he watched Gibson limp over to the far side of the small window. The expression on the other man's face told him that so far, the decision to come here had been a good one. Green eyes gazed with pleasure over the green fields they overlooked, one hand coming up to touch the glass almost reverently.

"Actually there's a footpath out along the hedge that's a short cut through to Adamson's land," Mrs Walthrope continued. "You can use that instead of going via the road. It's brings you out at the bottom of his lower fields. It'll take a good fifteen minutes off your journey."

She pointed behind her. "The bathroom is that side and next door the other way is the other room I rent but there's no one in it at the moment so you'll have the bathroom and the whole of this side of the house to yourself for the moment. I'm over in the extension at the front so don't worry about noise. The walls in this part of the house are solid stone so you could pretty much drop a bomb in here and I wouldn't hear it."

The minute the words were out of her mouth Tommy could see the horror bloom in her eyes. Her hand went up to her mouth and her eyebrows shot into her hairline.

"Oh my lord, I didn't mean....I'm sorry, I didn't think..."

Tommy waved off her apology immediately. "Please, don't worry," he said, "We know you didn't mean any offence."

"Lord, my mouth seems to run away with itself sometimes," she chuckled, the blush still high in her cheeks. "My Ralph used to shake his head at me more often than not." She cleared her throat. "I'll leave you to settle in. Give me a shout if you can't find anything. There is spare linen in the cupboard there, as well as towels. Your rent covers dinner but I expect you'll get fed pretty well up at the farm during the day. Mrs Adamson is good at feeding the hands on her farm. Most of the people I rent to work at either Raven's Peak or Hilltop," she explained catching the look on Tommy's face. "But your cousin will need to eat, so I'll have dinner on the table at 6pm on the dot."

Tommy saw the determined look on her face as her eyes cast over Gibson appraisingly and guessed she was already calculating the best way of fattening him up. She reminded Tommy of his grandmother, she'd had the same look in eyes as she'd constantly tutted about his own lean frame growing up, something that had never changed no matter what she threw at him.

Gibson was still gazing out of the window and so had missed the maternal appraisal. Tommy smirked mentally, guessing Gibson was going to be hit with the full force of it over the next few days and made a mental note to warn her not to expect too much from Gibson's appetite. He didn't want either Gibson to be sick or their new landlady to be disappointed.

"You'll have you're own rations and you'll be expected to contribute those to meals of course. You'll need to register with Patty. She runs the general store on the corner of the green. You can't miss it. You're welcome to use the kitchen though, through the day as you need. I'm not protective of that room," she chuckled. "Rent is due every Monday," she said, repeating what they'd discussed over the phone. "No visitors, except by prior agreement and no animals."

Tommy nodded, already knowing that neither of those wouldn't be an issue.

"Okay, well, I need to get back to that jam, so I'll leave you be. There's a spare key next to the front door which is yours. The rooms have a lock as well, the key should be in the door," she said bending around the check.

With a last jolly wave, she disappeared in a flurry of flour and Tommy heard the faint sound of her feet on the wooden stairs as she headed back down to the kitchen below.

They both stood there for a long few moments, neither moving or speaking. Tommy cast his eyes around the room that would be their home for at least the foreseeable future. It was slightly rectangular, with two single beds pushed into the corner on opposite walls. The window overlooking the back land was in between the two beds. Down on the opposite wall was a small wardrobe and chest of drawers with a wash bowl on top and in the far corner a small table. The walls were white washed and clean, the wooden floor boards scrubbed smooth. A single home made rag rub lay between the two beds. It was nice. It was homely.

He looking over to where Gibson was still leant against the window. As he watched, Gibson turned and their eyes met.

Tommy felt his breath catch in his throat at the emotion in the other man's eyes. As he tried to work out how to shift the lump in his chest so that he could breath again, Gibson pushed himself upright and limped across the room, coming to stand in front on Tommy. His eyebrows drew slightly, emotions flickering across that open face and Tommy felt his breath disappear again only to exit in a slight gasp as Gibson leaned in and wrapped his arms around him.

Tommy's arms came up automatically, wrapping around the other man and feeling him push into his touch. One hand cupped the back of Gibson's head as he pressed into rest his face against Tommy's neck. The skin there got hot and then wet.

"Hey, hey," Tommy whispered. "It's okay. Come on now." His other hand left Gibson's waist to grip his shoulder from the back, clutching him tightly.

Gibson held on tight for a few moments longer before pulling back slowly. His eyes were red and wet and he wouldn't meet Tommy's eyes. He inhaled deeply and then glanced up quickly. Tapping one hand against his own chest he opened his mouth, pausing when nothing came out. Clearly irritated he pulling frustrated face at himself and took in a sharp breath, the sound loud in the quiet room.

He closed his eyes, expression pained before tapping his chest again, softer this time before placing his hand on Tommy's. Meeting Tommy's patient gaze he opened his mouth and after another pause, mouthed the words, 'Thank you.'

Tommy had never done any sort of lip reading but it was clear to see what Gibson had said. His expression softened and he brought up his hand to cover Gibson's where it still rested on his chest.

"You're welcome," he whispered, knowing what the other man was thanking him for.

"You realise I don't actually know your name?" Tommy grinned later, when they're were both sat on one of the beds, backs against the smooth stone wall. He cast a look across. "Or how much English you know?" He narrowed his eyes. "How much English do you know?"

Gibson smiled and pushing himself off the bed headed across to where his bag was lay against the leg of the small table. Tommy watched as he reached in and brought out some crumbled notepaper and small pencil. Sitting back on the edge of the bed he hunched over and wrote something on one of he pages.

Tommy waited and then took the notebook from him when it was offered.

"Philippe," he said softly, reading the first of three names that had been written down in small neat handwriting. He glanced up and easily read the joy in the other man's face at hearing his name said out loud. "Philippe," he said again, loving the way it fell off his tongue. "I can call you Philip? Be easier if we're pretending your English," he explained.

Gibson nodded easily.

"And your English?" Tommy asked with a raised eyebrow.

Gibson smiled and brought a hand up to touch his ears and then eyes.

"You listened and watched," Tommy correctly interpreted. "Five years worth of learning," he said solemnly and reached out to take the hand that was resting on the bed between them. The fingers were slim but strong and he loved the tangible feel of them in his. "With no way to communicate back." He stroked his fingertips up and down, letting out a contented sigh when he felt the fingers twitch back to twine back around his.

Chapter Text

It was getting dark when Tommy walked along the lane that led back to the village. Although Mrs Walthorpe had told him about the shortcut, he made his first trip to the farm by road, sensing that going over the fields for the first time at night would most likely end up with him getting embarrassing lost. The extra time it took going through the village would also give him the opportunity to scope out where things were.

It was quiet. As to be expected of course at that time of the evening. The lights were on in a couple of the stores where people were restocking and putting things right for the next day and the small pub on the corner of the village green shone out with lights and the muffled sounds of people's enjoyment. It was quite strange to see lights after dark now after five years of black outs and Tommy took a moment or two to stare.

Raven's Peak was about a mile up the road to the north of the small village centre. The name was carved into a wooden sign that was attached to one of the stone pillars either side of the gateway. Tommy turned and headed up the dirt track, listening to the soft sounds of the sheep in the fields either side. About a quarter of a mile later and he came to the large farm house. Two, no three floors, brick build with a large porch housing the front door. Outbuildings flanked the courtyard on both sides, dark and ominous in the night air.

Lights were on in the front two downstairs rooms, light spilling out from in between half drawn curtains, so taking a breath, Tommy walked up to the large wooden door and after a moment's searching pulled the bell pull that was on the right side. Loud jangling sounded from deep within the house and after about a minute, he heard the bolt pulled back, the door swinging open.

A dark weather beaten face appeared on the other side. "Yes?"

"Mr Adamson?"

"Yes."

"I'm Tommy, Tommy Blythe? I'm sorry to disturb you so late but I wanted to let you know I'd arrived and see what time you needed me to start tomorrow."

"Ah, Blythe." The door swung further open. "Come in, boy."

Tommy shuffled in to stand in the large hallway, blinking in the sudden light.

"I didn't want to disturb you but I just wanted to let you know I'd arrived," he said. "And that I was ready for starting work tomorrow."

Mr Adamson was a tall man, grey whiskers framing a brown face that had obviously spent a lot of time outdoors. It was a friendly face though with eyes that twinkled, the lines around them and his mouth that also spoke of much laughter and smiling.

"That's appreciated, Blythe. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow but I'm glad to know you're here. Jimmy said you were reliable and polite so it's good to know that's true." He gestured to his right and moved towards a door beyond. "Come in for a moment."

Tommy followed him through into what turned out to be an enormous kitchen He nodded and smiled at the women standing by the large range on the far wall.

"Tom Blythe?" she asked, holding out her hand.

He nodded and shook it.

"Mrs Adamson," she introduced herself. "Nice to meet you, young man. Please excuse me if I keep on with this but we'll not have dry clothing if I don't get this all hung up. Three children under ten years makes for a substantial amount of washing," she chuckled, turning away to shake out a shirt she'd had gripped in her other hand.

"Please," he said, politely, "don't let me keep you. As I said I just wanted to, well, I just wanted to say hello I guess. See if there was anything I needed to know before I start tomorrow."

"No," the older man said, "just be here at 6am sharp. You said you'd done a little farm work when you were young?"

Tommy nodded.

"Okay, then. Albert is our main hand here, he'll show you what to do." He rubbed his hand across his beard. "You're here on a temporary trial remember," he said gruffly. "One month to see if you can handle it."

"Yes, Sir," Tommy said.

"You're staying over at Turner's Rise, aren't you?" Mrs Adamson asked, pegging a pair of children's trousers to the small wooden clothes horse.

Tommy nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

She smiled. "Good. Betty is a dear. She'll look after you well."

"Lad doesn't need looking after," Mr Adamson scoffed gently raising his eyebrows.

"All lads need looking after," she replied, laughing gently.

The walk back was peaceful. Tommy had grown up in a small town but he'd always appreciated the quietness of the country. They'd only been a few miles from the green hills of South Downs though and he'd always loved the few trips they'd managed out that way as a child. Coming back to somewhere like this was calming and that was something he knew he was in great need of.

Both of them were.

Despite knowing almost next to nothing about the Frenchman - Philippe, his brain happily supplied him - he'd not missed the looks that he'd cast about on their walk from the railway station to the house. The journey had taken a fair bit of time due to the pace that Philip could walk at but that had only been slightly outranked by the fact that the other man had his eyes all around him for most of the journey. In the trees, the hedges, the stream that ran down by the side of the road. Every time a bird chirped or sang, his head had whipped up, those large doe like eyes scanning the trees and the branches with the most contented look on his face. Philippe clearly loved the outdoors and Tommy made a promise to himself there and then to make sure they took as many walks out as they could. Immerse him in as much fresh country air and fields as he could throw at him.

He took in and then let out a long breath, feeling the sharpness of the evening air burning his lungs. The pub was still alight and noisy when he passed and Tommy couldn't help but grin at the speed with which people had moved away from the ingrained habit of blackout curtains. Purposely he guessed with a smirk.

Ten minutes and he was walking through the small wooden gate again and back up the path to the house. An owl sounded from the one side and he cocked his head up to the shadowy branches. There was a small wood on the one side that Mrs Walthorpe had said stretched right up to the boundary of the local manor house a good five miles away. Old ancient woodland, probably not touched since the days of the crusades. Tommy had made a note to ask her the best paths and to explore through there on one of his days off. He had a feeling Gibson would love it.

The lock on the front door was silent for which he was thankful. Well oiled and looked after, it barely made a hiss as he turned it. The hinges also swung silently on their pins. It was a relief as he hadn't wanted to wake their landlady coming and going at the time he would be for his work.

The stairs had a carpet that ran up the middle which would muffle his footsteps, although he would, as he had done tonight, leave his boots inside the porch so that mud and dirt wouldn't get tracked inside. He'd noticed the small wooden shelf there earlier and had guessed it's purpose. Mrs Walthorpe said most of her lodgers were farm workers so the well oiled front door and boot rack were a sensible addition. He'd forgotten to ask if she preferred them coming in the back door. She'd not said but he made a mental note to ask the next day.

Jogging up the stairs he quickly walked down the short hallway and pushed open their door. He'd not taken a key but there was no reason for Gibson to have locked it. The light was on when it swung open and he slid in.

Looking over to the beds he couldn't help the smile that lit his face. His mouth had been opening to say hi, but just in time he'd caught sight of the slumped form on the far bed. Clipping the door quietly and carefully turning the key he turned back and stood, taking a moment to gaze at Gibson's sleeping figure.

The other man had obviously been waiting up for Tommy to get back but had fallen asleep. He'd removed his shoes and top shirt but had left his vest and trousers on and sat across the bed rather than down, his back leant against the wall behind. His head and shoulders had slumped to the one side when he'd lost the battle with sleep, one hand spread out palm upwards on the bedcover, the other resting on his leg.

Leaning against the door Tommy stopped and looked, indulging himself. Everything had gone so fast that day, despite the relative slow pace of the journey itself. They'd been together less than a day, been in each other's company altogether less than two and already he couldn't imagine not having the other man nearby. His skin itched with the need to keep him close.

It didn't bode well for the future condition of his heart but what it did tell him was what he'd suspected all along. That he had already lost his heart five years previous. He just hadn't realised it.

Shucking off his coat he hung it on one of the hooks on the back of the door and padded quietly across the floor towards their beds. He couldn't leave Gibson sat in such an awkward position, he'd have a crick in his neck come morning, if he didn't wake before. Standing next to the bed he leaned down and gently placed a hand on the other man's knee.

Gibson jumped, head jerking to the side and only just missing smacking it on the wall as his eyes shot open, wide green staring back at him.

"Hey, hey, it's just me," Tommy said quick and softly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump."

Gibson blinked and then shook his head, hand coming up to rest on top of Tommy's. He gave a quick grin and then pushing himself further upright, shrugged with a somewhat embarrassed look on his face.

Tommy grinned. "You looked peaceful. Didn't want you to hurt your neck though," he said.

Gibson blushed, one hand coming up to rub the back of said neck.

"I'm going to turn in now anyway," Tommy said, turning back towards his own bed, hands coming up to start undoing the top buttons of his shirt. "I have an early start in the morning."

Gibson nodded and with a furtive glance at Tommy's hands which were now pushing his shirt back ready to slide it off his shoulders, quickly stood up and turned around. Hands moving to undo his trousers, he pushed them down his legs and with only a slight wobble as he pulled them from under his bad leg, pulled them back up to quickly but carefully fold them and put them on the end of his bed where his shirt had already be placed. Sitting back down he started to burrow under the sheets.

"We'll need to find out where we can do laundry," Tommy mused out loud. "And where we can get some new clothes. Most of my civilian stuff is moth eaten or doesn't fit anymore. And I'm guessing you basically have what you're standing in. I doubt the hospital will have been able to give you much." He sighed, hand coming up to rub his nose. "Plus I need to register my ration book with the general store." A pained look crossed his face. "I have no idea what we're going to do about yours."

Gibson looked over from where he was now buried under the bedcovers, sheet pulled up to his neck, a questioning look on his face.

"No ID, no ration book, no food rations," Tommy explained. Gibson's eyebrows furrowed and a worried look crossed his face.

"From the sound of it I'll get a fair bit of food up at the farm so we can make my rations here go further between the two of us, but it's going to look odd once they find out you don't have a book."

Shucking his trousers, he folded them and, along with his shirt, left them over the chair that was next to the door at the bottom of his bed. He dragged his bag from where it had got left behind the door and burrowed in the side pocket for his travel clock. Checking the time and the alarm setting he gave it an extra few winds with the key for safety and placed it on the small table under the window between the two beds.

"We're going to have to be very careful," he said, sitting back down on the bed. "If they find out you have no ID..." he bit his lip, the sudden fear slicing through him.

It had crossed his mind of course. From the minute the plan to take Gibson with him from the hospital had germinated it had been a small but growing weight on his mind, but it was only now, when they were both away from their respective institutions and about to start their new life that the reality was starting to press down a bit harder.

If they got wind of the fact that Gibson wasn't, well *Gibson*, that he had no papers, no ID...he wasn't sure exactly what would happen but he could be certain that it wouldn't be good. Even now the war had ended, there was a lot of fear and suspicion rumbling around. Finding out that Gibson was in fact a French soldier, not a British one would lead to a lot of questions that Tommy wasn't sure he'd be able to answer.

It had crossed his mind whether it might have been better to have told Hampton the truth when they were at the hospital in Marton, that he knew Gibson was French not English. After all, he'd been liberated from a PoW camp and brought to England under an genuine and honest confusion of identity. It hadn't been Gibson's fault any more than it had been theirs.

But somehow, somehow, Tommy couldn't take the risk. Couldn't take the risk that Gibson would be packed back off to France, sent back to Gods knows what in a country that was barely standing after six years of occupation. What would be waiting for him? Did he have family left? How would he look after himself without a voice? Would they just stick him in a mental hospital over there?

And, if he were being honest here, he didn't want to let the other man go. Risk being separated when he'd only just found him. The thought actually caused him pain in his chest and his hand came up to rub the area absently.

Tommy couldn't abandon him. Not now. Not ever. If it meant they stayed on the run for the rest of their life he would do it. If Gibson decided he wanted to go back to France, then he would help him do that, whatever the other man wanted he would be there for him. But his first duty was to keep the other man safe.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when he felt the bed dip next to him and a warm hand wrap around on the wrist of the hand rubbing his chest. He turned his head and found himself looking into worried green eyes.

Tapping his chest, Gibson hesitated and then shook his head, clear frustration rising in his face. He glanced down, tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip. After a moment he repeated the gesture and then tapped Tommy's chest, before grabbing Tommy's wrists in both hands, holding them together, the base of the palms resting against each other whilst the fingers curled lax.

Tommy let him and then looked down at his hands confused. Wide eyes were gazing at him, pleading that he understand.

It took a moment but then, looking at the position of his hands, understanding fell into his mind. Handcuffs.

"You don't want me to get into trouble?" he guessed, looking up at Gibson.

Gibson shook his head emphatically, the worry clear in his eyes.

Tommy pulled his one hand out of Gibson's grip and rested it on the side of the other man's face. He gazed at him for a long moment, allowing the full depth of his emotions to show on his face.

He took a small breath and closed his eyes.

"I would have done anything to change places with you on that boat. Or to have prevented us from getting into that heap of shit in the first place," he said, feeling the emotion bubbling up in his chest. "You saved my life three times and.." His thumb gently brushed the delicate skin under Gibson's eye. "I...," Tommy's voice broke slightly, voice dropping to a whisper, "...there hasn't been one day or night that has passed in the last five years where I haven't thought about you."

He blinked to clear the blurriness from his eyes, watching Gibson's face as the first tear spilled over and onto his thumb, feeling the wetness echoed on his own face.

"There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep you safe, to keep us together," he said softly. "If that's what you want..."

He'd barely finished the sentence before soft dry lips pressed against his. Almost as quickly they were gone again and his eyes shot back open, surprise and shock stunning him into inaction.

Gibson was still sat there, a look of fear and hope and something else Tommy couldn't quite put his finger on right then. As he watched, he saw the fear starting to win, bleeding into Gibson's expression as the other man began to read his inaction as rejection.

Tommy's hand which had fallen from Gibson's face when he'd pressed forward, rose up again to cup the back of the other man's neck gently and slowly pull him forward. As he did, he watched the light begin to once again fill those expressive green eyes again and as his fingers gently stroked the vulnerable skin at the nape of the other mans neck, Gibson lifted a hand and touched his own gentle fingers to Tommy's mouth, gaze flickering down to watch.

For a long moment they just breathed together, enamoured by each other's touch. Eventually though, Gibson slowly leaned forward again, his gaze flickering between Tommy's mouth and his eyes before he gently touched their mouths together again.

Tommy's eyes flickered closed of their own volition as his entire focus narrowed down to where their lips pressed together. It was chaste, soft and the most wonderful thing Tommy had ever experienced.

After a long moment though, slowly, ever so slowly, they both experimented with movement, lips dragging over each other in minute passes until the sensation was too much. Tommy tilted his head and changing the angle, pressed back firmly.

Immediately, Gibson's mouth opened and suddenly it became the centre of Tommy's universe. He moaned, hearing the sound vibrate between them and then both felt and heard an answering one from Gibson. God, the smell, the taste, the feel, Tommy thought he might loose himself in the sensation.

One of Gibson's hands gripped onto his arm, the other one, which had been touching his mouth had dropped to rest warmly onto his chest. Tommy raised his own hand and covered the hand, holding it and pressing it against himself.

Pulling back slowly he gazed into warm eyes. Smiling, he brought his other hand up to rub a thumb over Gibson's bottom lip, grinning when the other man pursed his mouth to swipe a gentle kiss over the tip. Tommy leant forward and pressed their foreheads together.

"Together," he whispered and felt Gibson nod, his hand gripped tighter in answer.

They went to bed separately.

Gibson had silently retreated to his bed, cocooning himself in the sheets until the only thing Tommy could see was a shock of dark curls. Tommy had curled up under his own, legs drawn up tight against his body. He'd turned onto his side facing the room and through the darkness after they'd turned out the light had watched the dark lump in the opposite bed for a long time before eventually drifting off to sleep.

He had no idea how much later it was, but suddenly he found himself blinking up at the ceiling. It was still dark outside and twisting his head, a quick check of his clock showed that it was still the night time side of midnight.

It took him a moment to realise what it was that woken him, lying there waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and he jumped slightly when he heard a low moan.

Frowning he turned over and looked over at the opposite bed. The lump of covers twitched and that dark shock of curls at the top twitched from side to side. There was another moan then, followed by soft whimpers that were cut off only to start again a moment later.

A nightmare, Tommy thought with a pang of sympathy. He'd had enough of them himself. For so long now that he often woke with no memory of them except the vague feeling of terror lurking at the back of his mind. He suspected that there had been a lot of nightmares generated in a lot of minds over the last few years. He knew the horror that was locked in his own mind, God knows what was trapped in the Frenchman's head.

It went quiet then. For long enough that Tommy thought Gibson had settled. But then another low moan broke the silence. Then gasping breath and followed by more soft whimpers.

The sound drove a sharp point into Tommy's heart. Pushing back the covers he rose and after a quick detour to check the door had been locked, he padded back to the other bed. Reaching down a hand he laid a hand on Gibson's nearest shoulder and firmly shook.

With a gasp Gibson's eyes shot open. Breath caught in his throat and Tommy heard that the beginning of that familiar wheeze threatening to crank up.

"Hey there," Tommy whispered quickly. "Just me. "

Wide green eyes filled with panic turned and locked onto his face as his chest heaved. Tommy grabbed the nearest hand which was clutched tightly in the top covers and gently eased his own fingers in between the thin, stiff digits. For long moments he knelt there, eyes locked with the other man as he synchronised their breathing, easing the heaving breaths back to a normal breathing pattern.

"Okay?" Tommy whispered.

Gibson stared at him for a long moment, before nodding shakily. Sweat had beaded across his forehead and in the dip in his collarbone, shining briefly in the sliver of moonlight that was shading into the room from the window behind.

"Okay." Tommy echoed the nod, his free hand coming up to cover where their hands were joined.

Tightening his grip on Gibson's hand he pulled gently, slowly pushing himself into a standing position and gesturing behind him with his head.

"Come on," he said softly, smiling at the slight frown that creased Gibson's forehead. Tommy continued tugging and Gibson slowly came up with him, following him the few steps over to his own bed. Letting go of Gibson's hand, Tommy slid back under the covers and held them up in an obvious gesture.

Gibson bit his lip and with only a moment's hesitation sat down and then with a last look back at Tommy, turned on his side and lay down next to him.

Tommy sighed happily and slipped his arm around Gibson, pulling him closer until they were spooned together tight, his chest pressed against Gibson's broad back. He felt Gibson press back, his body relaxing and sinking into his embrace and burying his face into the nape of the other man's neck, Tommy felt something click into place in his chest. He inhaled deep, pressing his nose against the soft warm skin and exhaled. He was asleep before the next breath in.