Work Text:
“He would forget the flowers, the laughter, even the beauty of her mother. But the eyes — those eyes — would wait for him in another time.”
The London station reeked of smoke and iron. Coal dust clung to every breath, the air thick with sweat and tears. Families pressed against the barriers, calling names, arms outstretched. Soldiers stumbled across the concourse, some laughing too loudly, some collapsing as if the war had only just ended.
On a cracked wooden bench, side by side, sat the three Shelbys. Uniforms caked with mud, boots worn thin, eyes hollowed out. They were ghosts waiting for a train back to Birmingham.
Arthur spat on the floor.
— Bloody hell. Feels the same as France.
John tugged at his battered cap.
— At least no one’s shootin’ at us.
Thomas said nothing. The cigarette shook slightly between his fingers, ash spilling onto the ground.
A murmur rippled through the crowd, heavy with recognition. “Evergreen. Captain Evergreen.”
Thomas lifted his eyes.
Cedric emerged from the platform — Captain Cedric Evergreen — tall, upright, uniform still sharp despite the years of mud and blood. He carried no arrogance, only a quiet authority that made men straighten when he passed. Officers stopped to greet him, some raising their hands in salute.
Beside him walked two younger men in uniform, the resemblance clear: Lieutenant Henrik Evergreen, solemn and measured, his insignia neat on the shoulder strap, posture rigid, every inch the disciplined officer.
And Lieutenant Theodore Evergreen, younger still, his sleeve marked with the faded insignia of the Royal Army Medical Corps.
Theodore was about Thomas’s age, but bore no ruin. His uniform sat sharp on his frame, though that single insignia told the truth of where he had served.
Likely, he had seen more torn flesh and dying boys than any of them. Yet he smiled, unguarded, his dark hair longer than most officers would dare, his face handsome and unscarred. He looked like someone untouched by blood and hunger, though his eyes betrayed he had witnessed enough. And still, he smiled.
From the opposite side of the concourse, through the crush of civilians, a woman appeared. Lavinia Carmichael Evergreen.
Her pale dress cut clean against the grit, her delicate hat framing a face so striking it seemed impossible to belong to the same war-torn land. She moved with poise, her lace handkerchief still damp with tears, beauty intact, luminous.
At her side, a small girl tugged at her hand — then broke free, darting forward.
— Papa!
The child ran with all the speed her little legs could manage, hair tumbling, blue-green eyes fixed on the man ahead.
Cedric dropped to one knee just in time to catch her. He swept the girl into his arms and spun her, her laughter ringing above the noise of the station.
— There you are, my little flower!
Lavinia reached them moments later. Henrik clasped her in a steady embrace; Theodore kissed her forehead, his own eyes bright.
At last, she fell into Cedric’s arms, her face still wet, and he kissed her lips as if the war itself had ended only in that touch.
While husband and wife held each other, Henrik bent down, reaching for the little girl.
— Come here, Vinia.
She went to him at once. Henrik hugged her close, pressing a steady kiss to her cheek.
— You’ve no idea how much I missed you.
Vinia giggled, patting his face with small palms.
Then she wriggled, reaching toward Theodore.
Theodore stretched out his arms.
— Come here, little one.
He swept her up with ease, joy spilling out of him. He kissed her cheek once, then again, and again, until she squealed.
— Love of my life! God, I missed you so much.
She clung to his neck, tugging at his hair, while he pressed kisses to her temple, her small hand, her hair. Affection that open, that reckless, was not how men behaved in public—least of all soldiers — but Theodore didn’t care. He held her as though the world belonged only to them.
Lavinia dabbed her eyes, smiling at the sight. Henrik clapped his brother’s shoulder, indulgent.
— We’re whole again, — she whispered, smiling through tears.
— We are. And thanks to them, — Cedric murmured, glancing back at the soldiers streaming past.
The girl wriggled free, shrieking with joy as her uncle lifted her high, spinning her like a feather.
— Up to the sky, Vinia! — he shouted, kissing her cheek as she clung to his neck.
Her laughter spilled into the air, sharp and bright as crystal. For a moment, the Evergreens seemed wrapped in their own light, untouchable in the middle of the chaos.
At last, Theodore passed her back to Cedric. She curled against her father’s chest, still giggling.
From the edge of the crowd, three figures hadn’t moved. Hollow-eyed, uniforms frayed, they watched in silence. Cedric’s gaze caught the name stitched on their chests.
Shelby.
And as Cedric adjusted her, Vinia turned her face toward the shadow where the Shelbys stood.
Most children would have hidden their faces, but not her. She stared, curious and fearless, until the smoke blurred the space between them. Thomas felt the gaze as if it cut through him.
Her blue-green eyes fixed on him through the smoke, steady, unblinking. Thomas realized he couldn’t look away. He was twenty-eight, a man broken by the mud and blood of France, yet a ten-year-old child held his gaze as if the war had never touched her.
Adjusting the child in his arms, he crossed the space toward them. Henrik and Theodore followed a step behind; Lavinia moved with quiet grace at his side.
The Shelbys rose at once, hands snapping to their brows. The salute was stiff, instinctive.
Cedric stopped before them, shook his head.
— No need for that. Not anymore. Truth is, I hated it. Still do.
Arthur let his arm fall awkwardly. John’s jaw tightened. Thomas held the salute a heartbeat longer, then lowered it, shoulders loosening.
Cedric had seen the name stitched on the eldest’s uniform, the rank clear beside it.
— Sergeant-Major Shelby, isn’t it?
Thomas gave a small nod. His jaw was tight, but his voice steady.
— Aye.
Cedric shifted Vinia against his chest and offered his right hand. Thomas met it, firm grip to firm grip.
— I’m glad you and your brothers made it back alive. My brothers, too, Henrik and Theodore. Many didn't; we’re the lucky ones.
He glanced at the child in his arms, then back to the three men.
— Now it’s time to rebuild. Not just cities, not just ranks. Families. Lives. That’s the fight ahead. I wish you success, all of you.
Lavinia stepped closer, her voice low but steady, her beauty almost unreal up close.
— England owes men like you more than it will ever admit. You gave enough.
Cedric lowered his eyes to the little girl in his arms, then nodded toward the three men before him.
— Violet… these men, and many others like them, ensured I could return to you, that your uncles could come back. Families like ours are standing here today because of them.
Lavinia brushed a tear from her cheek, her voice gentle but firm.
— Always honor them, darling. Without men like these, there would be no peace to come home to.
Violet blinked up at her parents, then wriggled her small hand into the pocket of her little dress. She drew out three tiny violets, their petals crumpled but still purple-bright.
One by one, she offered them — first to Thomas, then Arthur, then John — repeating each time, her little voice clear and careful: “Thank you, sir.”
Thomas hesitated, then accepted, the tiny stem vanishing in his dirt-blackened fingers.
Arthur took his clumsily, the bloom swallowed in his rough palm.
John slipped his quickly into his pocket, as if afraid to break it.
Lavinia’s smile was brief but sincere, gratitude shining through restraint. Cedric inclined his head once more, a soldier’s gesture of respect, before turning back toward his family.
— Farewell, Shelbys.
As they moved away, Cedric passed Vinia once more into Theodore’s arms. She squealed and clung to him as if she’d never let go. He lifted her against his chest, kissing her temple, his voice breaking with wonder.
— Look at you… You’ve grown. I can’t believe I missed all this time with you.
Vinia pressed her small hands against his cheeks, giggling as he rocked her gently. He kissed her hair, her brow, her tiny fingers when they reached for his mouth.
— God, I missed too much… but I’ll make it up to you.
He held her close, forehead resting against hers, eyes shut for a moment as though nothing else existed.
The Shelbys saw it all, the unabashed affection, the kisses, the laughter. A man their age, a soldier like them, unashamed to love openly in the middle of a station full of eyes.
Lavinia walked beside Cedric, their hands entwined, their steps perfectly matched. Henrik strode at their side, softened by the sight of his brother and niece.
Arthur muttered, scratching at his beard.
— Christ… even their kids look like bloody paintings.
John gave a low whistle, still watching the girl.
— Never seen eyes like that.
Thomas said nothing. But when Vinia looked up at her uncle again, her blue-green eyes caught the smoke and burned bright as glass. He couldn’t look away.
✒️ Author’s Note – Visuals
Meet the post-war Evergreens :)
