We'll Meet Again - USUK

Chapter 9

Tuesday 28 October, 1944

Alfred!

You... you... you! I should have known a little thing like being shot down and captured would not be enough to kill you. I can't tell you how damned happy I am to hear you're all right, old friend!

We all nearly fell over when we heard the news. The whole squadron send their best for your quick recovery, although knowing you I am sure you will be up and about in no time - if you aren't already. Don't give the doctors too hard a time, they're just trying to help.

I'm looking forward to seeing you once I get out of this mess over here. I'd say more, but you know what the censors are like.

Your friend, Matthew.

P.S. All the best to Arthur.

Arthur finished reading the letter and handed it back to Alfred, who sighed in frustration and practically threw it onto the small table beside his bed. "I should be over there. I feel so useless."

"You've done enough." Arthur's gaze fell involuntarily on Alfred's mutilated hands. "More than enough." Arthur quickly shook his head and looked back up. "Now, let us return to the rather pressing matter at hand." He picked up the two pairs of glasses Alfred had earlier tossed down on the bed. "Let me see you in these fetching red ones once again." He leant over the bed and placed the glasses on Alfred's face, even as Alfred laughed helplessly and tried to pull away.

"Stop it! They're all terrible. Glasses don't suit me."

"Oh I don't know, I think these ones suit you quite well."

Arthur had asked earlier exactly what had happened to Alfred's eyes, but he quickly wished he hadn't. Alfred got as far as mentioning something about chemicals and burning before Arthur felt sick and begged him to stop. Whatever the enemy had done to him, Alfred had lost a large percentage of his sight. As Air Force pilots had to have perfect vision, and along with missing three fingers, Alfred would never fly for the military again. Alfred hadn't spoken much of it... but it was obvious he was devastated.

Alfred peered up at Arthur over the top of the glasses. "I'll never get used to these."

Arthur couldn't help laughing. They actually did suit him. "But of course you will. Stop complaining."

Arthur's pub had been running practically without him for the last week as he went back and forth to the hospital. The whole thing still felt like a dream... but a wonderful, beautiful dream from which he never wanted to wake. He watched Alfred get better every day in the few hours he was allowed to spend with him in the hospital. It felt like minutes. In the short time they had they talked, remembering everything about each other and learning more. Arthur spoke to Alfred, silly things, things to cheer him and distract him, things that usually led to an argument because Alfred always was so bloody frustrating. Arthur listened to Alfred, on the very few occasions when he started to speak about his experience, usually just a few words muttered before his eyes clouded over and he trailed into silence. And sometimes Arthur just sat, watching Alfred sleep, trying to grasp the fact that the only thing he'd ever truly wanted was in his grasp, in his heart, and lying before him.

"Any word on when you'll be out of here?" It was all Arthur thought about. He was desperate for Alfred to leave, to be alone with him, to be somewhere there weren't doctors and nurses and bloody military guards keeping watch twenty-four hours a day. But Alfred was a virtual prisoner until he gave the military the information they wanted to know about his escape. Every day someone tried to convince Alfred to explain how he'd gotten free of the Germans. Every day they left without an answer. An answer that Arthur didn't know himself, and had no idea why was so important not to disclose.