Author: newyork24-7 PM
Felicity and the Baron deal with the aftermath of the events of the series finale. Rated T at the moment.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Friendship - Chapters: 18 - Words: 61,639 - Reviews: 60 - Favs: 7 - Follows: 13 - Updated: 07-31-12 - Published: 03-03-12 - id: 7892511
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I remember watching this programme when it was first released, and I recently got the dvd to watch. Which was when I decided I wanted to write a story about what could have been after the series ended.
I hope you read and enjoy :)
And as ever all thoughts are welcome.
A chill had descended over the island in the last few weeks, the previous pleasant warmth of the summer days fading and being replaced by a biting wind as the month of October came to fruition. The flimsy summer dresses that the island women had previously favoured and had caught the attentions of so many soldiers, were replaced with heavier, drabber dresses, and on particularly harsh days the stockings were even substituted with wool tights as the winter coats made their reappearance.
It was a similar story with the soldiers, their uniforms for the most part remained unchanged but now covered with heavy coats and leather gloves added to the repertoire on particularly bitter days. The new look managing to gain them even more appreciative looks.
Despite being wrapped up and supposedly protected from the elements, Felicity still felt her eyes water as she cycled along the coastal road, where the wind was unsurprisingly particularly harsh. She bit back a shiver as she pressed forward, she'd hit the wooded area soon, where at least the trees would offer her a small form of protection.
Her legs were burning from the exertion of riding into town and back, her food laden basket combining with the wind to add that little bit of extra resistance to her journey that she simply didn't need. Although she would have thought after four months of this she'd be used to it - apparently not.
Her bike shook and wobbled as Lieutenant Walker's motorcycle and sidecar whizzed past her, only an inch or so away from sending her flying into the verge, and as a result she was forced to pause in an attempt to stop herself from toppling over. Wincing slightly, she dismounted her bike and holding it upright, took a moment to stare out over the bay, her eyes fixing on the dazzling blue of the water, the image of James and Philip on that Godforsaken boat flashing through her mind.
She wiped away a stray tear that had tracked a damp trail down her cheek. Given the circumstances it had been the best outcome that could possibly have happened, and one that she hadn't even wished for as it had seemed so unlikely. Still though she continued to worry about them both, it had only been a few weeks since they'd left but with every passing day she felt as though an invisible band was tightening itself around her stomach. She'd heard the horror stories about the German's POW and prison camps and she prayed to God that that's all they were, stories.
At least James was only a few miles away, on one of the other islands. It had been all but abandoned, it's occupants fleeing to England when they'd had the chance, and so the German's had turned it into a giant prison. The threat of what could be now looming over every other islander. She sighed, it was only a few miles but it may as well be oceans away, after all the distance between them didn't matter, it was what they were going through that mattered.
If she squinted slightly she could almost see the other island - or maybe it was just a figment of her desperate imagination. She and James had grown apart over the last ten years of their marriage, but in the last few months they'd been more united in the face of a common enemy. It might not be a lot but she was aware it was more than some married couples had, and she did love him, it was just a much more sedate love than she'd thought she'd ever feel for her husband.
Her mouth quirked slightly at the thought of their common enemy, the enemy she wasn't even sure she actually considered as an enemy anymore. Her fingers inadvertently tightened around the handlebars of her bike. Apart from when she'd thanked the Baron for what he'd done for her family, she hadn't spoken to him in weeks, had only seen him in passing. He appeared to be avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him, but she didn't want to think about the reasons behind that. Shouldn't really be thinking about him at all.
Her life was now spent in isolation, she lived miles away from the village and all her previous commitments, am drams, coffee mornings and all the small tasks that came with being the Senator's wife had disappeared, so she had very little reason to venture from Sous La Chaine. She supposed she should think herself lucky, after all the islanders had yet to start accusing her of sleeping with the multiple German soldiers who were camped out in her home twenty four hours a day. At least they didn't think that lowly of her.
Letting out one last long, low sigh, she mounted her bike again. There was no point in dwelling, she couldn't change what was happening to her son and husband, as much as she might want to, so she might as well just get on with her life as best as she could until they returned. She glanced once more out to the water, sending up another silent prayer that they would be kept safe and kicked herself off, determinedly heading for home.
Catching sight of her out of the corner of his eye, the Baron tried to focus on what Muller was telling him about the new runway, but suddenly found that he couldn't quite concentrate. He fixed an expression of rapt interest on his face so that Muller wouldn't catch on as he continued to watch her.
Stray locks of her blonde curls had fallen out of the somewhat elaborate way she pinned them up, brushing against her flushed cheeks as she hoisted her bike up the front steps and leaned it against the main wall. His men did not offer their help, no doubt they knew she'd reject it and snap at them, so they saved themselves the bother, he wasn't sure whether that amused or irritated him. It amused him that they were so wary of her; his hardened soldiers afraid of a tiny woman, and it irritated him that she was left to struggle along alone. Perhaps he was more of a gentleman than he thought.
His fingers tapped against the harsh material of his uniform, he didn't like the way she made him feel. She made him vulnerable, made him act against the orders he had, not enough to cause him any real trouble but certainly enough to raise eyebrows amongst his more senior officers.
He had never considered himself a monster, although he knew that most on the island would disagree. He was trying to make this occupation as comfortable for them as he possibly could, and yes sometimes he had to make a decision he didn't like, that didn't really sit well with him - such as the execution of Eugene La Salle - but he'd had no choice, the boy was a spy and the same fate would have befallen a German boy doing the same in England, whether they accepted it or not.
The problem was when he was with her he wanted to be a better man than what he was, as much as her hypocrisy annoyed him - she didn't want him to shoot English soldiers they caught but she didn't criticise the English for killing their boys - he liked the spark that she had. Liked the fact that she defied him in an attempt to protect what she saw as hers, while others tiptoed around him, awed whispers following him wherever he went, she simply said what she thought.
He still remembered in perfect detail the day he met her, in the elegant splendour of the George Hotel. The older woman next to her had twittered on annoyingly, while she'd simply stood there, looking small and frail in comparison, her hair and makeup immaculate, her dress neat and feminine, the perfect English rose, although her expression was one of silent mutiny and defiance. He'd liked that.
He'd decided in that moment that he was definitely interested, although it had been her quick-witted and cutting 'welcome' into her home that had sealed his decision that it was her he wanted. He was not a man who had a woman in every port, although as he was in a position of power he had plenty of them making it clear they were available should he want them. He did not want some whore, he wanted a woman of integrity, although he had never expected to develop any real feelings towards her.
It was those feelings that had prompted him to spare her family, he had meant what he'd said, about being sickened by the death of young men, but if it hadn't been her son then he wasn't sure he would have been so lenient, after all it was her desperate pleas that had prompted him to do what was right, rather than what he had been ordered. He had told her he always did what he believed was right, and it was true and when he was lucky what was right fell in line with his orders, while other times he had to bend the orders to try and ease his troubled conscience. This had been one of those times, but had it been someone else, someone he didn't know, would he have been quite so lenient? His eyes narrowed, it was these thoughts that bothered him.
There really was no denying to himself that she was under his skin, and that was why it was better for him to keep away from her. He might still want her, but it wasn't as simple as just taking her now, if it had been then he could have taken her up on the offer she'd thrown at him only a few weeks before, her body in return for her son's life. But he hadn't wanted her like that, he'd wanted her to actually want him, not just to give herself up as a sacrifice and so he'd refused her, although the memory of her pressed up against him had since caused him many a sleepless night.
He tore his eyes away and slid them back to Muller who was still talking in earnest. In just a few sentences he was up to speed again and pushing the issue of Felicity Dorr to the back of his mind, he forced himself to focus on the issue at hand. They were after all at war, he could not be seen to be slacking.
Hoisting the basket out of its holder, Felicity stumbled back slightly on her feet still slightly surprised by the weight of it. Tightening her grip on it, she made her way through her hallway, eyes fixed firmly on the tiled floor, stifling an irritated sigh when a pair of shining black leather shoes blocked her vision.
Drawing to a halt she looked up to see the pinched face of Oberlieutenant Flach peering down at her, his thin mouth curving into what was most likely his idea of a smile. "Do you require any help with that, Mrs Dorr?"
She adjusted her grip as she felt the basket start to slip, steadying it. "No," she replied resolutely.
His eyes fixed onto the basket and then flickered back up to her face. "I do not believe you."
"That is of course your choice, however I'd appreciate it if you'd let me pass."
He didn't move. "Why not accept my offer of help?"
"Because I do not require or wish for your help," she all but spat back. "Now please get out of my way."
Still he stayed where he was, although he leaned forward his voice dropping to a low hiss, "You would be wise, Mrs Dorr not to provoke me."
"I have no intention of provoking you, in all honesty I would like nothing more than to have nothing to do with you or any of your men."
A snort amusement escaped him. "That is of course not possible, so I suggest that you remember your manners next time I offer you my services."
Felicity bit back a retort about where he could stick his services, it had been unwise to answer them back when she had the protection of being the Senator's wife, but now that she was alone and unprotected in a house that was filled to the brim with the enemy it was downright stupid, and she wasn't a stupid woman. "Very well, now will you please let me past?"
His cheek twitched slightly, his eyes raking over her in a way that made her supremely uncomfortable, revolted even. Finally after a long, uncomfortable pause he replied, "This time," as he stepped to one side.
She could still feel his beady eyes lingering on her the entire way to the kitchen.