Chapter Text
29 September, 1945
Ezra Fell bustled about his bookshop, passing the time before he could close the door and lock up for the day. The lone woman standing in his shop, the one who claimed to be looking for cookbooks to read for her husband, yet who was now browsing his more racy offerings of tawdry novels, seemed to have settled on several titles and was close to finishing her purchase. Much to his annoyance, the little bell over the door jingled its merry chime.
‘We’re about to close,’ he announced in a peevish tone without turning round.
‘No worries, Angel,’ the burnished honey voice curled behind him. ‘I can come back later. Or…better yet…meet you tonight at the Army Navy Club. Let’s say in about an hour? Around six? See you there.’
The bell over the door jangled again as the man left for the busy street.
‘Crowley!’ he gasped, eyes widening, before spinning on the balls of his feet. He hied to the entrance, but the redhead had already crossed the road.
But…there he was. A long assortment of angles, stretched lean over muscle, as if he were only permitted so much mass, and he was determined to make the most of it by towering over the passing throngs out for Saturday shopping. His shock of red-copper hair was covered by a stylish fedora, but when Ezra called his name, he turned and doffed it to him, as he would for a lady.
No. As he would for a suitor, Ezra couldn’t help but thinking with a thrill.
***
21 December, 1944
Private Fell skidded on a bit of rubble from the bombed-out remains of a house and went down hard on one knee. He could feel the blood start to warm through the thick wool serge of his battledress almost immediately, but there was no time to dwell on such minutiae. It melded with the other flecks and patches of indelible misery that marked his uniform after several months of wear. The Twenty-Third Hussars Regiment was meant to be overtaking the town of Olne on the campaign east into Dusseldorf, but a platoon of Germans had surprised them and divided off a small group, taking down several of his fellow men, as well as handful of American troops who mixed in for the scrum.
Then, the pitiless Luftwaffen had swooped low to pelt them with their violent cargo, and his ears still rung from the explosions.
He had dived clear of one of the bombs, then scrabbled for cover as the gunners high above shredded the landscape around him with strafes of gunfire. His pulse surged as a volley of bullets zinged off the bricks above him and sent a blizzard of hairy plaster down on his helmet, showering him with whitish chunks. It was from that small nook of safety that he had witnessed the tragedy — a particularly aggressive Nazi Messerschmitt fighter struck one of his own and sent the R.A.F. cargo plane buzzing noisily toward the ground, streaming smoke behind her like a macabre banner. Ezra watched in despair at first, but when several parachutes bloomed like dahlias over falling figures, his heart quickened with a squeeze of hope, only to be crushed again when all but one of the descending men danced sickeningly as their bodies were shredded and torn with sprays of bullets midair.
But, still…if he could reach the lone survivor, perhaps he could be helpful. Private Fell certainly knew it wouldn’t be a much of a rescue — despite having been called up to combat almost four months earlier, he hadn’t been able to develop the thick emotional callous that the other men seemed to have. His hands trembled just holding his rifle, and the scant few times he had been able to bring himself to pull the trigger haunted his nightmares. When the others lounged around, smoking and casually trading stories of bagging Jerries, as the enemy were called, he would scrunch into the background, and silently mull over all the comforts of home he ached to have again.
Kneeling in the domesticated remains, there was no time to moon over lost books and the pies he loved to make, even if they were still helping to pad out his short, thick personage. He had lost contact with his brigade, so now he was alone, terrified, and filled with the singleminded determination to find the sole survivor of that crash and get them both to the safety of his regiment.
Swallowing hard, he reached up and adjusted his helmet, then raised his gun before pushing his body through pain and fear to run for the trees as the soldier floated downward. The field between felt interminable as he rushed across, risking exposure should either the snipers see him or the Luftwaffe make another pass. Just as he was losing his wind and slowing down, the long, lean shape of a man hit the ground and rolled to absorb the shock, then quickly began to disentangle himself from the securements.
‘C’mon,’ the tall ginger man urged, pulling off the parachute yoke then tugging him, and the mass of silk, back into the woods. ‘It’ll be a miracle if no one saw you, Private.’
‘So sorry, Staff Sergeant,’ the plump little blond gasped as he was tugged by the man bearing three chevrons and a crown on his uniform. ‘I saw your plane go down and wanted to see if you needed help. I didn’t think about how I was leading them right to you.’
‘Some guardian angel you’d make,’ the older officer quipped as they picked their way deeper into the trees. ‘Might as well draw old Fritzie-boy a map right to me.’ He stopped to help the other man over the moss-cushioned relic of a fallen tree. ‘Are you with the 11th Armoured?’
‘Uh, yes…23rd Hussars, but we’re meant to link up with others soon.’
‘Eighth Corps, Sappers, though I’m meant to be going back to London,’ the slightly Scottish-inflected redhead explained, using the informal sobriquet for the Royal Engineers. ‘I don’t really have time to be hiding from Jerry beside some babbling brook outside of Fléron — I need to alert Home Office of my whereabouts so they can get me the fuck back.’ He wadded the parachute as small as he could make it and crammed it away in his pack.
‘Why do you get to go home?’ the younger man asked somewhat testily, even as his new comrade spied a crumbling structure and pulled his sleeve.
‘Special project, let’s just say. Come on, Private — we can take cover in here for a little while, or at least until it quiets down a bit more.’
He led the way into the ruins of an ancient church and immediately began searching every corner and shadow for potential enemies. The older man spidered his long limbs with a grace and surety that Ezra couldn’t stop himself from admiring. His cocksure actions and visible comfort with his rifle made the fussy man feel more at ease; if anyone should stumble upon them, he had no doubt the other soldier wouldn’t have the hesitation he did.
‘Alright, Angel-Lad, have a seat,’ the officer offered as he dropped onto the old stone floor padded with debris. ‘Even if I were one of the Heinies, I’d have gotten your name out of you by now. Standard protocol. Mine’s Crowley. Staff Sergeant A.J. Crowley. And, thanks, by the way. I really do appreciate your effort. Your bravery is commendable.’
‘Private Ezra Fell, sir, at your service. And, I’m not brave. Truth be told, I was positively terrified the whole way over, which is probably why I wasn’t thinking with the clearest head.’
‘It’s not bravery if you’re not scared, Fell. And you don’t have to ‘sir’ me — I’m not a commissioned officer. Just a bloke like you who signed up to keep English as our mother tongue.’
‘Oh, I didn’t volunteer,’ the fussy little man replied, casting his eyes down at his twisting fingers. ‘I got called up when they lowered the height requirement and realised I’m just five-four. I had already turned thirty-one when I got the notice, and at first I thought there was a mistake. Once I turned thirty, I thought I was safe, but then they expanded conscription to fifty, then eventually drew my lot. And here I am.’
‘How long ago was that?’ the redhead enquired.
‘A little over five months,’ he sighed sadly, pursing his full lips. ‘I’ve been in combat for almost four, and I still can’t grasp the hang of it. I’m absolute rubbish as a soldier.’
‘I’ve been in this shit for almost five years,’ Crowley replied in an even tone. ‘And I’ve some crap soldiers in my time, Fell. If you were really all that hopeless, you wouldn’t have even come to my aid — you’d be more concerned with saving your own arse.’
‘My heart broke when I saw your comrades blown out of the sky,’ Ezra frowned, willing himself not to cry. ‘I was terrified you’d all be killed.’
Sergeant Crowley’s mouth crooked and an odd expression played across his visage.
‘I miss feeling my heart break at the sight of tragedy,’ he answered honestly. ‘I think the last time I really broke down a wee bit was this past summer, back in Caen. We were part of Operation Epsom, and the 15th Scottish Infantry had done a dead canny job of flanking Rommel’s bastards and squeezing ‘em inward. I was accompanying the 43rd Infantry, with orders to provide support to the 11th and 4th Armoured as necessary. That’s why I asked if you were in the Eleventh — I knew I’d remember you had I seen you, so I was wondering. Anyway, I ran across a bloke I hadn’t seen since I was a bairn back in Alyth. Real good sort — we were best chums in school, practically inseparable, Iain and I.
‘He had been showing me a photo of his wife and baby from before the war when Jerry zeroed in our position and started shelling hard. Threw everything at us, I think, from 88’s and potato-mashers, to firing their bloody Lugers at us. Anyway, I made cover in time, but he was only a step too slow. Half his fuckin’ head was blown into my foxhole, and I lost it. Almost ran screaming, but I got a handle on meself before I did anything stupid. Grabbed his tags to return to his missus if I ever make it out of here, though. As for me, I just turned forty years old, and I feel like a bitter, miserable, broken old man already. That’s why it’s so important that I get to London — we need to end this fucking war and hoist Adolf up on a bloody petard.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear about your friend,’ the blond said quietly, turning his eyes downward. He was never good with situations involving sadness, and despite being steeped in it, his ability to cope had not improved. ‘As for ending this, do you really think you can help with that, Staff Sergeant?’ Ezra asked, scooting closer. The older man was undeniably attractive to him, but predominately it was his imposing height and well-honed battle skills that were making him feel safe in his presence. He didn’t want to spook the engineer, and definitely didn’t desire his private proclivities to be suspected, but he did want to get as near as possible to find solace in his long shadow.
‘I worked with radio before all this. Communications. Can’t go into particulars, but they evidently decided I’m a lot more useful to the war effort conducting experiments than on a battlefield. Though, if that’s the case, it would’ve been nice had they figured that out before giving me a grand tour of the bleeding Continent.’
‘It’s always odd to me to discuss what we did before this,’ Ezra mused aloud. ‘Perhaps because there’s so little chance any of us will return to those lives. I often feel that we’re all going to fight forever out here, then die like the rest. And it won’t matter who were bakers, or writers, or farmers, or film actors…all our corpses rot the same.’
‘You’re a dark one, ain’t ya?’ Crowley chuckled. ‘You haven’t been fighting long enough to be that sullen, Angel-Boy. You’re still supposed to be swollen with patriotism and itching to bag you some Jerries, not giving the Moustache Man enough credit to think he can keep going forever. He can’t, and he won’t. We’ll win this war…mark my words.’
‘Is that just you trying to “rally the troops”, as it were, or do you believe that, sir?’ he asked, leaning in closer.
‘I believe it with all my heart,’ the ginger levelled fiercely, fixing his gaze on him without wavering. ‘And, again, you don’t need to “sir” me. In fact,’ he continued, smiling at the younger soldier, ‘Just Crowley will do. That’s what everyone calls me. We’re equals whilst holed up in here, and it’d be nice to have a conversation as men, not as ranks.’
‘Do you think we’ll be here very long?’ he enquired, glancing around them. ‘I’m certainly enjoying the respite, but I don’t want to keep you from your destination.’
‘We should probably encamp here until at least nightfall,’ the officer surmised. ‘And, I think we can cover the windows enough to have a small fire back in that alcove. It’s already getting colder than my coat can handle, and you look like you’re more’n halfway frozen already. We can get your blood warmed a mite, then decide if we want some chow.’
Ezra looked over his fellow soldier and took in the full effect: He was always fond of tall gents, and this one was striking. The easy air of confidence and savvy certainly didn’t hurt either. He had no reason to believe this science-minded staff sergeant had any similar leanings to himself, nor was he willing to risk prison and a court-martial to find out, but he could enjoy the moment as it came, then store away his feelings for when he was alone.
‘I’ll follow any orders you give, Crowley. And be quite glad for your direction,’ he hazarded, feeling quite trilled by emotion at calling the officer by his Christian name.
‘I nicked some R.A.F. C-rats when I was sent aboard the flight,’ the redhead smiled, already digging into his pack for a matchbook. ‘We’ll be stuck on biscuits, a fruit bar, and maybe some boiled sweets, but at least we shan’t go hungry tonight.’ The officer flicked a match and set a wodge of kindling alight, then reached into his bag again. ‘There you go, Fell. Curtesy of the Air Force. Can’t tell what you’re getting, but at least we won’t have to cook it.’ He lobbed over a cylindrical ration tin.
‘Thank you, my dear boy,’ Ezra hummed, turning the can over in his hands. ‘Should it come down to it, I’m certain I’ll be quite grateful for the sustenance. Even the oatmeal munch, though no one can convince me it’s not secretly another weapon to hurl at the Germans than the snack the name implies.’ He screwed up his courage and moved over another half-metre, putting their hips almost in bumping distance. ‘I am frightfully cold, though.’
‘We can’t have too grand a fire, I’m afraid. The trees will provide a good amount of coverage, but we can’t risk being spotted. We’ll figure out how to get you warm enough, though. No point in being out here and freezing our bollocks off.’
Some sticks and twigs were rounded up from the detritus littering the church floor and pitched to a point over the glowing kindling. They caught almost immediately, and grew to a cheery flicker that chased away the gloom in their mouldering corner. Ezra reflexively stretched his hands toward the warmth and smiled his gratitude up at the senior officer.
‘I’ll take what I can for as long as is feasible,’ the private said quietly, willing himself not to look at the other soldier with the feelings that burbled in his chest and had been the source of so much strife and loneliness. ‘Rather been a recurring theme in my life, anyway.’
‘You got anyone waiting for you back home?’ Crowley asked as he unscrewed the cap from his canteen.
‘No, thankfully,’ the blond shook his head. ‘That was the one aspect of my life this didn’t complicate. There’s only my bookshop in London awaiting my return.’
‘It survived the Blitz, then?’ the sergeant queried, then passed him his water.
‘Happily, my grandfather chose to set down his bibliophilic roots in the West End, so it was one of the buildings that Hitler’s men missed.’
‘So, he left it to you?’ the ginger plied, warming his hands in turn.
‘No, he left it, along with a sizeable estate, all to my mother. However, she and I had something of a row, and I accepted the shop in lieu of any inheritance or future contact with the family.’
‘Something of a row?’ Crowley repeated, staring incredulously. ‘Sounds to me like you were excommunicated by your own mum. What’d you do? Kill someone? Because, even if you did, there’s no call for all that. I mean, it’s your mum. Just go back and tell her how many Huns you’ve sorted; suddenly one measly murder looks like a sodding birthday party.’
‘Nothing of the sort,’ Ezra smiled sadly. ‘Quite the opposite, I assure you. No, my crime was in thinking I had a place of my own and space in it for my private thoughts. I was living in a rather comfortable flat provided for me, and my mum used her key one day while I was out. I had left my diary out on a bedside table. She took it upon herself to do a little light reading.’
‘First off, that’s horrible,’ the tall man exclaimed. ‘Secondly, it’s utter bullshit. Even if you were writing about wanting to murder people — fuck, even if you wrote about wanting to kill her — thoughts aren’t actions. And she shouldn’t have been poking through your things, regardless.’
‘I’m sure she would’ve preferred if I had been penning homicidal screeds, but no. More to the point of me being attracted to individuals of whom she didn’t approve.’
‘Bollocks to that,’ the sergeant frowned. ‘You should be free to love anyone you want, Fell.’
‘I don’t know why I feel so comfortable with you, but I do Crowley.’ He took a shaking breath and hugged his knees as closely as he could. ‘Her chief complaints were biblically founded. I’m certain I don’t need to say more on the matter.’ He cringed inwardly and waited.
‘Does she eat ham and wear clothes woven of two different fibres? And I’m sure she doesn’t keep her hair covered, so what’s the problem? It’s an old book full of bizarre nonsense from two millennia passed. Like I said, love whoever you damned well please. Life’s too bloody short, Ezra.’
‘Thank you, my dear. It’s obviously not quite so easy as all that, as you know. Not everyone shares your liberal mind and religious critiques. I’m quite shocked, personally — I’d always heard there are no atheists in foxholes, and while not a proper trench, we do seem to be holed up for the time being.’
‘I would rebut that with the opinion that there should only be atheists in foxholes,’ the older man grinned. ‘By the time you find yourself in a foxhole, you might want to rethink your worldview.’
‘Too right. I certainly have done,’ Ezra smiled back and tried mightily to not flutter his eyelashes or make too much eye contact. Then, to sober himself away from thundering thoughts refusing to be quieted, he tried another line of questioning.
‘Do you have someone back home? Someone who’ll be quite pleased with your sudden return?’
‘Not as such,’ the staff sergeant took a deep breath and prodded a stick into the fire. ‘There was this lass I was seeing for bit; she was quite keen to get married, too. Good-looking enough, rather nice, really. And it would’ve solved a whole mountain of issues, but in the end, I just couldn’t do that to her.’
‘Do what, Crowley?’
‘Marry someone I don’t love,’ he explained. ‘My work was making it known that I’d progress faster and have an easier time if I settled down and got hitched. I tried to tell them that I just prefer life as a confirmed bachelor, but they weren’t having it. Said it was becoming a “security risk” in my job. So, I went out that very night, met a pleasant girl, and started taking her around. Life got easier within a week, but then she started talking marriage and kids, and I just couldn’t do it anymore. Signed up with the RE and haven’t looked back since.’
‘You went off to war rather than get married?’ the blond asked, then ran his fingers through his curls as he tried to extinguish the ember of hope that had suddenly sparked in his chest. ‘I don’t even know if I would go so far.’
‘No, Ezra, that was only part of it. I mainly went because it was the right thing to do for my country.’
‘That was very good of you,’ the private commented. ‘I had to be forced, and even then, I can almost never bring myself to follow through. It’s all so brutal,’ he shuddered delicately and looked down at his boots.
‘It wasn’t good,’ Crowley growled back. ‘Do you have any idea, whatsoever, the fucking atrocities I’ve seen since I got to the front lines? How many fucking atrocities I’ve committed? What’s worse was how easy I found it all; what the bloody hell does that say about me? You may still get to keep your pretty halo, Angel, but some of the rest of us have long since fallen.’
‘It’s all for the best, my dear,’ he replied, laying one of his small, plump hands on the officer’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry I said anything, though. I’ve gone and made you cross with me, just when we were having a lovely chat.’
‘It’s not you,’ the redhead sighed and squeezed the fey younger man on the shoulder. ‘I’m just sick of it all, I suppose. And now getting called up to SIS means I’ve drawn enough attention to myself for whatever sordid deeds I’ve done, and they want me to help commit even more, and probably on a larger scale. And don’t think I won’t do it gladly — that’s the twisted part. News out of Germany is that Hitler’s getting worse and more unstable by the day, and if I can do anything to help topple that bastard’s disgusting regime, I will.’
‘There’s no shame in wanting to end the war and take down a madman,’ Ezra reminded him. ‘And, if you can accomplish that, even in some small part, by going to the Secret Intelligence Service, then I’ll happily help get you there.’
‘My own little Angel for the evening, then, are you?’ the sergeant smiled again, this time entirely warmly. ‘What do you say to hunkering down here for the night? Maybe we can actually get some shut-eye.’
‘Just the two of us, then?’ He hoped that if the concern in his voice was perceived, that the reason for it wouldn’t be guessed. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to flash his eyes up at him, or offer little coquetting touches, and his defences were lowering the longer he stayed near.
‘Why not? Afraid I’ll bite…my Angel?’ he teased, then rose to his feet, leaving a sputtering blond plumpness in his wake. ‘How old you reckon this church is? I bet it’s ancient as anything. I’m going to have a look-round and see if there’s a wine cellar. No reason we shouldn’t have a little fun tonight.’
‘Oh, dear,’ the private muttered once he was alone.