For King And Country (not mine)

Spring 1940

April 28th 1940

Seven days.

That was how long it took for them to talk about it.

Seven days after Havers' birthday, anxiety began to rise again until it finally blew up.

Havers had been suffering from a bad case of butterfingers for three days. Constantly dropping things, being generally clumsy, and just causing a troubling amount of caution around the house.

People had been on edge, ready and waiting for something he was carrying to drop, always meeting him in the middle so that there was a steadying hand to support things.

The Captain was pouring over a map with his fellow officers in the common room when a sudden crash came from behind them.

Everyone reacted, their attention dragged away from their work with a flash of surprise in their eyes.

As the Captain turned, he already suspected what had happened. His guess was soon confirmed when his eyes landed on Havers, who was sat on the floor, a look of confusion on his face, surrounded by smashed glass and puddles.

He’d gone to fetch some glasses of water and had clearly had another one of his clumsy moments.

He seemed slightly stunned, and his trousers were now covered in water stains, the material clinging to him in some places and flaring out normally in others.

The Captain forced himself not to look at the places where the fabric clung.
"Good Lord, Havers, what in the bally hell is going on with you at the minute?!" He asked.

"I-I don't know, sir," Havers said. He finally stood, brushed off any smashed glass clinging to his trousers.

"My apologies. Would I be alright to change trousers once I've cleaned this up, Captain? I wouldn't want to continue working with an unsuitable uniform."

"Of course." The Captain replied. "Reed, Hughes, go and give Lieutenant Haves a hand getting the glass cleaned up, will you? There are brooms and other cleaning equipment in the kitchen.

I suggest you hurry. We don't have the time to be mucking about today."

Hughes and Reed responded immediately, following Havers out of the room to search for the cleaning supplies, careful not to tread in the puddles or the piles of glass. "Right," The Captain said, returning to the map. "Where were we?"

~

"Lieutenant Havers, could I have a word with you before you go off to dinner, please?" The Captain called.

"The rest of you are dismissed."
The rest of the Button Eleven began to pack away for the day. It took a minute or two for the last of them to leave.

When they did, the Captain finally looked at Havers instead of at the door. There was a good ten feet between them, but it somehow felt like miles.

"What's going on with you?" He asked.
There was an accusatory tone in his voice that he didn't intend for there to be. He tried valiantly to force it down as he spoke again.

"You've been distant and not yourself for the past week. The clumsiness quickly followed. All of us are concerned."

"I'm sorry, Captain. I've had a lot on my mind." Havers said.

The Captain stayed quiet, uncertain as to how to address it. "I-is there anything that I should know?
Something I can help you with?"
Havers' fingers twisted nervously together, and his eyes strayed from the Captain's face. "Yes, sir. As a matter of fact, I rather think you can help."