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emotionalcadaver · 5 months

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Part 2: Broken Pieces

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Henry struggles to adjust to life following his dischargement.

Word Count: 1,442

Notes: Warnings for depictions of PTSD and references to past child death and a past suicide attempt. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

Masterlists: Main • Series

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He shot awake with a barely contained scream, legs tangling in the sweat-soaked bed sheets, body thrashing from side to side. There was a thunderstorm inside his mind; twisting winds and screaming and cold water and the roar of fighter engines descending from the sky and the rumble of bombs and above it all the little cry of a poor young boy as Henry’s hands shoved him to his death–

Shooting up out of the bed, Henry all but hurled himself into the tiny ensuite bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he was vomiting violently, entire body heaving and shaking with it, hands clutching the toilet rim, choking and gagging.

When it was over he slumped back against the opposite wall, pushing weakly at the handle to flush the toilet. A quiet whimper rose from his throat, running a hand through his hair. It was getting long, the fringe falling almost completely into his eyes. But he could barely bring himself to venture outside to buy groceries, let alone go to the barber.

Maybe the next time his mother came to visit he could have her cut it for him.

Returning home had been far more painful than he’d expected. There was no relief, as he had hoped there would be. Instead there were the faces of people who had known him nearly his entire life, looking at him in a combination of surprise and fear. Probably wondering how the lively, if somewhat quirky boy they’d once known could have turned into this absolute shell of a human being, flinching and diving for cover at the smallest of sounds, jerking away from people’s touch, shrinking in on himself whenever someone spoke in a voice that was too loud.

Eventually, he just stopped going out unless he had to. It was better than having to see the disappointment and shock in their eyes. To have to live with the crushing expectations that he would eventually return to his old self; the Henry that they all knew before the war took him away and ripped him to pieces.

But that Henry was dead. He’d drowned out there in the channel, pulled far below the ink black waves.

He’d thought about getting away; going somewhere where no one knew who he was. Start fresh. But he had no idea where he would go. And he knew that wherever he went, he was not going to be able to escape the roar of war that lived in his head.

Wiping his mouth, he braced his hand against the wall to help heave himself up, legs still unsteady as he staggered to the sink, rinsing his mouth out and scooping some cool water onto the back of his neck, splashing it onto his face. He kept his eyes averted from his reflection in the mirror; not needing to see the gaunt, pale, hopeless face that he knew would greet him.

It was still dark out, but he knew better than to try to go back to sleep, instead heading to the kitchen. Reaching into one of the dozens upon dozens of pots with happy, green plants sprouting from them, he tested the feeling of the soil, frowning at the dryness and stooping to dig out the watering can he kept under the kitchen sink, filling it and carefully pouring a stream into the pot. Nodding to himself, he stroked one of the big green leaves tenderly.

Much as he tried not to, his eyes drifted away to the piece of paper still pinned to the bulletin board he had hung up on the kitchen wall. It was overflowing with receipts and little notes, but there was one piece of paper he had up there that always seemed to burn in his mind whenever he even thought of it.

Pulling it free from the pin holding it in place, he leaned against the counter with a sigh, fingers pinching at the worn out edges of the paper, just staring at the address scrawled in looping, faded letters.

He’d tried to throw it away far more times than he could count. But every time he couldn’t bring himself to. Don’t ask him why; he certainly didn’t have any idea.

Weymouth could be a place to start over. Begin again.

A mental image of George, looking down at him curiously, and then the memory of the sound his body had made when he fell–no, when Henry pushed him–exploded into his mind and made him nearly throw up again, the guilt building up in his throat painfully, hands trembling. Bottom lip quivering, he buried his head into one of his hands, shoulders shaking as he started to sob.

He was a murderer. A fucking murderer, he’d killed that child. He’d just been a sweet young boy, and Henry killed him.

There were people in Weymouth who knew George. There had to be. Family, friends. How could Henry go back to that place at all, let alone with the expectation of being accepted or welcomed in any way after what he had done?

And Daisy, sweet and bright with her beautiful hazel eyes and dimpled smile, deserved far better than the jagged, broken pieces of a man that he could offer her.

Shortly after coming home, he’d taken a sharp pair of pruning shears to his wrists. But his mother had found him before it could all be over. He could still remember the look of barely hidden shame in her eyes as she looked down at him in the hospital bed. Just the memory alone was enough to make him want to curl in on himself in shame. Should have used a revolver, like the Duncan’s boy down the street had.

And yet he still could not bring himself to throw away the paper she’d given him with the address to the library that she worked at. Even though it had been too long. If he showed up now, she might have already moved on. Or rightfully be angry with him for taking so damn long. No, no. It would be better for her if he just left her alone. Let her find someone else who could give her a life that didn’t involve having to wake up every night to terrified screaming, or needing to leave public places because they were too loud.

He crumpled the paper up into his palm, squeezing it tight, willing himself to be strong. To not be selfish. She deserves better than me.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Or that the fleeting moments that they’d spent on that little boat had been some of the few flashes of peace and calm he’d felt since Dunkirk.

She deserves better than me.

He was a mess. A failure of a soldier and now just as a person. His mind was blown to utter pieces out there on that battlefield. It was doubtful that he would ever be able to put it back together again.

But he would not burden her with that task. He would not put it on her to fix him.

He was pretty sure that he was unfixable, anyway.

She deserves better than me.

He told it to himself one last time, and let the paper fall into the trash can.

Heaving out a breath, he nodded to himself, once, and moved back to the sink to refill the watering can. But his heart was sinking, the disappointment and loss swirling in his chest. He imagined how she would be, with every passing day. Looking up hopefully each time the library doors opened, shoulders slumping in disappointment. The way that she would wander about the stacks of books, wondering what she’d done wrong to push him away.

Nothing, you did nothing wrong. It was me, all me.

Please just forget about me.

But, god, that hopeful look in her eyes when she’s held the paper out to him…

Slamming the watering can down and cursing in a way that would have made his mother cuff him around the head, he went back to the trash can and pulled from it the crumpled, worn paper, unfolding it to look at the faded words.

It wasn’t like it mattered if he threw it away or not. He’d spent so much time just staring at it that he knew the address like the back of his hand.

Sighing in heavy defeat, he pined the paper back up to the bulletin board. His mind screamed and thrashed with guilt and shame. But at the same time, a warm, quiet hopefulness bloomed in his chest, fingers tracing lightly over Daisy’s looped handwriting.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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#shivering soldier #shivering soldier x oc #henry wilson x oc #henry wilson #not an update #daisy preston x henry wilson #daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston #my ocs #my fanfiction #broken pieces

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emotionalcadaver · 5 months

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Part 1: In the Heart of War

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Trauma can make you do terrible things.

Word Count: 3,403

Notes: Warnings for depictions of war, PTSD, blood, and a major head injury. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

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Chapter 3: Not Going Back

Back hunched, empty mug of tea dangling from one hand, Henry seemed to have just begun to nod off. Perhaps it was the gentle rocking of the boat, or maybe the simple promise of dry land, that was enough to lull him. Daisy was seated beside him, a little afraid to move out of fear that she’d disturb him. Their sides were pressed close together in the small corner of the deck that they’d squashed themselves into. Not that she minded. He was warm.

But then another explosion sounded off in the distance and he was jumping to alertness, head snapping upwards. Eyes focusing on the smoke in the distance, he frowned, standing.

“Henry?” she asked, setting the mug she’d been cradling in her hands aside.

“Where are we going?” he turned to Mr. Dawson.

“Dunkirk,” the old man answered. Henry glanced back to where plumes of black smoke rose from the ocean into the sky. For a moment she caught sight of his eyes. Of the sudden flash of raw, panicked horror that washed over them.

“No, uh, no, no, we’re going to England,” he looked back at Mr. Dawson, confused. Pleading. Hoping that he had misheard. Mr. Dawson clearly also saw the sudden fear crossing Henry’s face, expression smoothing out, voice calm and gentle.

“We have to go to Dunkirk first.”

His head shook wildly. “Look, I’m not going back,” he almost choked on the words. “I’m not going back. Look at it,” he pointed towards the smoke. “If we go there, we’ll die.”

Mr. Dawson glanced from him to the smoke. Then shrugged. “I see your point, son,” Daisy’s eyebrows raised. “Well, let’s plot a course,” he gestured for Henry to follow him. “You can take your tea below and warm up. Peter,” he called to his son. “Have we got space for a man to lie down?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter eyed Henry warily. “Here, come on,” he held out a hand, taking Henry’s empty cup of tea from him so he could brace himself to descend the steps. “Careful. Careful,” he led Henry to a tiny room, stuffed full of orange life jackets, but with just enough space that he could lay down if he wanted to. “Just in there,” Henry eyed the space, glancing back at Peter, eyes darting over the boy's shoulder to look at Daisy. She gave him the most comforting smile she could muster. The angles of the light accentuated the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones, dark fringe falling into his eyes. “I’ll get you some more tea.”

She noticed Peter’s fingers hovering over the lock after he closed the door. “Don’t,” she said quietly. The blonde looked reluctant, but nodded. Feet planted firmly on the stairs to keep her balance, she moved to help him with the tea.

“I’ve got it.”

“Peter,” she spoke in a hushed voice. “Are you afraid of him?”

Peter pursed his lips, glancing over his shoulder at the room he’d left Henry in. “He makes me nervous.”

Daisy followed his gaze. She supposed that it must be frightening, especially for someone as young as Peter, to see a person as mentally destroyed as Henry was. As kind as the soldier seemed to be, the fear made him unpredictable.

“He’s alright. He’s just scared,” her attempt at reassurance only earned her a small shrug. She sighed, patting him on the shoulder before climbing back above deck. George was sitting next to Mr. Dawson, the pair talking about fighter planes.

“What are you going to do when he realizes that you haven’t turned us around?”

Mr. Dawson sighed. Daisy narrowed her eyes.

“He isn’t just going to fall asleep until we get back to England. Certainly not with those explosions in the distance. He might ask to come back on deck soon,” the wind whipped a few locks of hair into her face that she had to push away. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’ll handle it.”

“I was thinking that maybe I should try talking to him.”

Mr. Dawson shook his head. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“All due respect, sir, but he trusts me more than the rest of you.”

“I’m the captain of this vessel, Daisy. If anyone has a problem with the course I’ve charted for us, they take it up with me. I won’t get the rest of you involved.”

Her jaw clenched, forcing herself to swallow her frustration. Getting into an argument wasn’t going to do much good for anyone.

“Is he a coward, Mr. Dawson?” George asked.

“Of course not,” Daisy’s tone was aghast.

“He’s shell-shocked, George,” Mr. Dawson said at the same time. Glancing away, his lips pressed into a hard line, a deep sadness settling into his eyes. “He’s not himself. He may never be himself again.”

The idea sent a mournful pang through Daisy’s heart. Not just for Henry, but for all of the men so irreparably scarred by this war. It wasn’t fair. Sitting down next to George, she sighed, shoulders curling in against the cold bite of the wind. George stood to help Peter with something down below.

“‘Never,’ you say?” she asked, frowning out at the ocean in front of them. Mr. Dawson shrugged.

“It depends on the man, I suppose. And what he went through. An attack from a U-boat is one of the worst things that can happen out here,” he bent to adjust the speed of the engine. When he straightened, a small smile played on his lips. “He seems to be quite taken with you.”

Scoffing, she shook her head. “I’m just the first person to offer him a shoulder to rest on since being irreversibly traumatized.”

“The most relaxed he’s been since getting on this boat was when you were talking with him.”

Shrugging, she pulled her green sweater tighter around herself, slipping her hands underneath it to protect them from the cold. “Once we get back to dry land I’d give it a week until he’s forgotten all about me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

She shot the old man a funny look. “We just met.”

“You say that as if you weren’t visibly pouting for the hour you thought he was married.”

She stood, wiping her hands down on her pants. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re going senile, old man.”

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, popping up from below deck.

“Your father is seeing things.”

“Don’t listen to her son, she's just in denial.”

Grumbling, about how she would rather jump into the sea and swim back to England than carry on with this conversation, she stomped downstairs.

∗ ∗ ∗

Stretched out half on top of the life jackets piled in the room with him, Henry tried to close his eyes and rest. But every little jolt from the boat sent him leaping up, preparing to race for the door at any sign of water leaking in or the boat sinking.

And he couldn’t stop shivering, the little tremors leaving his hands unsteady, muscles fatigued. It didn’t matter how warm he was, this was not the kind of shivering that heat could abate.

The people on the boat seemed nice enough. Though the nervous glances, bordering close to actual fear, between the two young boys every time Henry moved made him almost wish that he’d just allowed the sea to claim him, rather than clinging to the wreckage of that sunken ship. When he thought back to how he’d knocked the tea from the young, dark haired boy’s hand, he wanted to curl in on himself from embarrassment and shame.

They all probably thought him mad, or at the very least a coward, for the way he’d practically begged them to just turn around. To take them all home and away from the hellscape that awaited them if they continued on their course to Dunkirk. But they just didn’t understand. By forcing them to turn around, he was keeping them all alive. The only thing that awaited them at Dunkirk was misery and death.

He sat up, leaning his side heavily against the stack of orange life jackets beside him. Lips pursing, he huffed. It had been more comfortable out on deck, where he could see what was going on and Daisy was warm against his side.

When she’d approached him, with a small smile and wide hazel eyes, he’d forgotten, for the tiniest sliver of a second, the trembling in his bones. For a moment he was himself again, blinking up in stunned awe as a pretty girl approached him. Soft, short brown hair fluffy from the wind and humidity, danced around her neck. And when she grinned, dimples appeared in her cheeks. So damn adorable he wanted to stroke his finger over them.

He was pretty certain he was half in love from one quick glance alone.

The boat jolted again and his hands flung out for stability, heart hammering as he waited for a rush of water to hit him in the face, punching the air from his chest. But it never came. They must have just hit a bit of choppy water. Exhaling deeply in relief, he took a final gulp of his tea, setting the cup aside and standing. Pausing a moment to regain his balance on the swaying floor. He would feel better if he was back out on deck. Maybe Daisy would sit with him some more. He liked listening to her talk; that soft, musical Welsh accent working like a balm over his shattered nerves.

He pressed his hand to the door to push it open. It wouldn’t budge.

∗ ∗ ∗

The wind whipped at her hair, nipping her cheeks and chilling her ears. She missed having Henry’s warm figure seated beside her. The thought had briefly occurred to her to go down to the room he was resting in. Not to do anything unseemly, just to sit and talk. But she didn’t want to overwhelm him either. Or disturb him if he was resting.

Mr. Dawson and George were discussing spitfires after a group of three flew over them. She didn’t pay much attention, pillowing her head on her arms, huffing out a breath of air. Bored. And definitively more than a little tired of the sight of open water. They’d been out there for hours. The least they could see would be a dolphin or something.

Peter leaned his head in from below, eyes wide.

“He wants to come out.”

Mr. Dawson’s brow furrowed. “What have you done? Locked him in? Let him out, for God’s sake.”

Daisy jumped up from where she’d been sitting. “I told you not to do that!” she scolded. They could hear the sounds of the door rattling lightly as Henry tried to open it, his shouting muffled by the wood. Daisy, George, and Mr. Dawson all huddled at the entrance to the stairwell, watching as Peter unlocked the door and pushed it open.

There was no one in the room.

Face scrunching in confusion, Daisy leaned forward. Okay. She was fairly certain that Henry wasn’t a ghost, or had the ability to pass through walls. Where did he go?

Peter ventured further into the room, head tilting up to examine what she remembered from the brief moments she’d spent in the little room to be a skylight.

Straightening, then turning, she just about ran into Henry’s chest where he was standing behind her. His hands caught at her before she could stagger back, gently guiding her to the side. His eyes remained focused on Mr. Dawson, a combination of fear and anger boiling beneath them.

“You haven’t turned around.”

“No. We have a job to do.”

Henry rested his hand on the ceiling to help stabilize himself against the sway of the boat. He laughed, humorlessly.

“Job? This is…this is a pleasure yacht,” he stuttered. “You’re weekend sailors, not the bloody navy. A man your age?”

“Men my age dictate this war,” Mr. Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “Why should we be allowed to send our children to fight it?”

“You should be at home!” Henry shouted, finger raised.

“Well, there won’t be any home if we allow a slaughter across the channel,” a sadness entered Mr. Dawson’s eyes. An attempt to gently explain. “There’s no hiding from this, son.”

Something twitched in Henry’s eyes. He looked like he was about to cry. “What is it you think you can do out there, on this thing?”

“There’s not just us. A call went out. We aren’t the only ones to answer, you know.”

The desperation in Henry’s eyes was building. Tension was mounting in the air. Like that moment when the water in a tea kettle had just begun to boil, but the kettle had yet to begin to scream with the steam releasing from it. “You don’t even have guns.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“Yes, of course,” the growing agitation was plain in Henry’s voice as he swayed from side to side with the movements of the boat. Daisy took a step back. While she still didn’t think that he would intentionally hurt any of them, he was clearly frightened enough to do something drastic, especially if he felt like he was being backed into a corner. “A rifle, a 303.”

“Did it help you against the dive bombers and the U-boats?”

Her eyes flickered to where George was standing near the stairs. Peter was behind her, out on the deck. He’d climbed out through the same window Henry had crawled through.

“Mr. Dawson, let me talk to him–” she began.

“I’m handling this, Daisy,” he said sternly.

“You’re an old fool,” Henry closed his eyes, leaning forward and shaking his head. “I’m not going back,” for a moment his hand pressed flat against the window. He opened his eyes and straightened. “I’m not going back. Turn it around,” the command in his voice was clear. And for a moment, she saw a glimpse of the soldier he’d been before the U-boat and the war had blown his mind to pieces. Determined. Strong. Steadfast. Prepared to do what was necessary.

Mr. Dawson turned away, his back to Henry. “I’m not turning round.”

“Turn it around!” Henry shouted, loud enough to make all of them but Mr. Dawson jump. “Turn it–” he grunted and lunged forward, seizing at the wheel, trying to push Mr. Dawson away from it. Peter shoved past Daisy, attempting to wrestle the soldier off of his father. George was reaching out, trying to help. Daisy jumped back; there was no way in hell she was going to try to get in the middle of that scuffle.

“Henry!” she instead shouted, hoping that somehow the sound of her voice could break through his panicked actions. The area was so small and crowded, it was hard to see what exactly was happening. Mr. Dawson was scrambling at the wheel, Peter grabbing at the back of Henry’s uniform. In the sharp, frantic movements attempting to gain purchase on the wheel, one of Henry’s elbows caught George in the head, the boy losing his balance, falling with a clatter down the stairs.

“Wait, wait!” Mr. Dawson said, hands held out as Henry rounded on Peter, attempting to lightly push him off.

“Calm it down, mate,” Peter said, hands up.

“George!?” Daisy called, when he didn’t pop back up from where he’d fallen. Everyone went still.

“George? George!” Peter scrambled past Henry and down the stairs. Henry staggered backwards, sitting down hard, eyes glued to where George was curled in a fetal position on the floor, whimpering. “What have you done? Daisy!”

The sound of Peter calling to her shocked her out of her stunned stupor, rushing down the stairs to kneel beside the boy. His head was bleeding, groaning quietly as his body spasmed with pain.

“Okay, you’re all right, George,” Peter was saying. “You’re all right. Hang on,” he grabbed a lifejacket and a rag. “Okay. Okay, just…”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Daisy said, helping him to lift George’s head enough to pillow it on the life jacket.

“That’s it. That’s good enough,” he watched carefully as she guided his hands on how to hold the rags against the bloody spot on George’s head. “It’s gonna keep some pressure on. There we go,” Peter was murmuring more to himself than to her. “There we go. Can you hear me, George?”

Above deck it was all quiet, so she assumed that Henry and Mr. Dawson had stopped fighting. But she couldn’t worry about that right now, too busy helping Peter wrap George’s head in bandages. The two boys were muttering things to each other.

“Be a brave lad.”

“You and Mr. Dawson?” George rambled. Peter’s fingers that were pressed to his head came away bloody. He shot a panicked look at Daisy. She bit her lip. This was far, far beyond the handful of first aid classes she had taken. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“You’re alright. You’re okay,” Peter tried to soothe. Daisy reached out to tightly grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Go get him some water,” she said, taking over putting pressure on the injury. The blood was hot as it drenched her hands. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her breathing. To remind herself that all head injuries bled a significant amount.

“Sea Cadet. It’s the only thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s alright. It’s okay. Just have some water,” Peter tried to hold the cup to George’s lips, but he turned his head away.

“I told my dad I’ve done nothing at school,” his words were slow. Not quite slurred, but certainly dazed. “And that I would do something one day. Maybe get in the local paper,” there was a wistfulness to his voice that broke her heart. “Maybe my teachers would see it.”

“Okay, get some rest. I need you back up on deck as soon as you’re able,” Peter said, in a clear attempt to raise George’s spirits. George shook his head, suddenly looking even younger than he actually was. A little sob left his lips.

“I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t see.”

The horrified look that Peter wore was mirrored with her own. She beckoned him silently to come with her.

“I’ll be right back, George,” he said, following her into the corner where they could speak in hushed voices.

“You can help him, right?”

“Peter…I’m not even a nurse. I’ve taken a few classes in first aid, that’s it,” her eyes darted to where George was still curled up on the floor. “He needs more help than you or I can give him right now.”

“So…so what? What do we do?”

“We’ll just…make him as comfortable as we can.”

Peter shot a venomous look towards the stairs. “This is his fault.”

“Peter,” she caught him by the sleeve, pulling him back to her as he started to turn away. “It was an accident.”

He scoffed, pulling away to stalk up the stairs, voice quiet as he spoke with his father. Sighing, Daisy knelt over George, adjusting the bandages around his head.

“Just try to rest, okay, kiddo?”

He nodded, mumbling incoherently. Frowning, she made her way back upstairs.

“Well, should we turn back?” Peter was asking. Mr. Dawson glanced towards the way they’d came, a sad, conflicted look entering his eyes.

“We’ve come so far.”

“How’s Henry doing?” she asked, glancing outside to where she could see a figure huddled on the deck.

“Who cares?” Peter snapped.

“Peter,” Mr. Dawson chastised softly. He turned to Daisy. “I think you should go check on him.”

Nodding, she approached the huddled figure cautiously, sitting down beside him. He had his head buried in his hands.

“Henry?” she rested a cautious hand on his forearm. He jumped at the touch, head raising to look at her with miserable eyes. It was clear he’d been crying.

“I’m–I’m sorry,” he choked out, a few more tears spilling down his cheeks. Eyes widening, Daisy wrapped her arms tightly around him, letting his head rest against her shoulder as his back spasmed with violent sobs.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, hugging him tightly while he clung to her. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she thought back to poor George, whimpering on the floor, and squeezed Henry just a little bit tighter to her. God, she hoped that what she said was true.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

#not an update #shivering soldier #shivering soldier x oc #henry wilson #henry wilson x oc #dunkirk #daisy preston #daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston x henry wilson #my ocs #my fanfiction #in the heart of war

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emotionalcadaver · 5 months

Text

Part 1: In the Heart of War

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: The worst has passed, but that doesn’t mean they’re free of the wounds it left behind.

Word Count: 1,850

Notes: Warnings for depictions of war and PTSD. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson. We’re at the final chapter! I apologize in advance for the slight cliffhanger, but I do have a sequel planned for these two that I hope to write eventually!

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

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Chapter 5: Maybe

“What did you do? Before all of this, I mean,” she asked. Henry’s head was still settled on her chest, but she could feel his eyelashes lightly tickle her skin every time he blinked.

“I…uh. I was a gardener,” he let out a small laugh. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a botanist.”

“You’ll have to give me some tips. I’m horrible with plants.”

“Really?”

“I kill just about everything I touch,” she pouted slightly while he chuckled. “You’ve liked plants since you were a kid?”

“Yeah. Drove Mum crazy with all the dirt I was constantly tracking into the house,” he lifted his head slightly, voice still soft. The sun was just beginning to set, and a few of the soldiers had managed to fall asleep. “Did you always want to be a librarian?”

“Nah. I mean, I always liked books, but…ever since I was little I thought that I wanted to be an ice skater.”

“You thought?” he sat up a bit more.

“Mhm. I took a few lessons when I was small and fell in love. But Mum wouldn’t let me skate unless I competed, so I did,” she glanced down at her hands. “It was fine. For a while. But I never cared much for the competitive part of things. Everyone was so…mean to each other. I just wanted to skate. All Mum really cared about was the money I got from winning competitions. To the point that I’d get in trouble at home if I didn’t get gold. One time, I sprained my ankle doing…I don’t know. Something stupid probably. She insisted that I couldn’t be hurt because I had a competition that weekend. I just about destroyed my ankle trying to skate on it. It still pops sometimes,” she rolled the aforementioned ankle absentmindedly, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “Kind of sucked a lot of the joy out of it.”

Those big blue eyes blinked sorrowfully at her. “I’m sorry, Daisy.”

One side of her lips pulled upwards into a sad smile. “It’s okay. I got out of it, in the end. Quit as soon as I was of age. Though Mum practically disowned me for it.”

“Is that why you spent so much time traveling?”

“Partly, yeah.”

“Do you still skate, now?”

“Yeah. Every once in a while, at least. It took a long time, for me to feel good about it again. But I got there. Eventually.”

One of his hands fluttered to cover hers, fingers stroking her knuckles. “Good. That’s good.”

The stairs creaked, as two soldiers emerged from the depths of the boat.

“No, stay downstairs, please,” Peter said, minding the wheel while Mr. Dawson spoke with Collins outside.

“We just want to see the cliffs,” one of them said. Peter hesitated, then nodded. The two boys crowded around one of the windows. Henry nestled back up against her, another small shiver going through him. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Daisy rested her chin on the top of his head, looking at the patchwork of white and black that covered the sides of the cliffs to their right. They really were quite pretty. The two men were conversing with Peter quietly.

“Miss?” she looked up to see a soldier hovering nervously in the doorway, clutching an empty cup in his hand. Henry straightened, leaning away and leaving her to pout at the loss of his warmth.

“Yes?”

“I was…wondering if I could have some more tea?”

“There’s a pot just to the left down the stairs. If it’s empty, feel free to brew more.”

He nodded gratefully, shuffling awkwardly away towards the stairs. A part of her, the one with the manners her mum had beaten into her, wanted to jump to her feet and get it for him, but exhaustion had settled heavily inside of her, the idea of even standing seeming to be a massive feat. She leaned her side against Henry, head slumping onto his shoulder. After a moment, she curled in even closer and closed her eyes. Warm.

“Well, don’t you two look comfortable,” she cracked an eye open to see Collins grinning mischievously as he moved to approach Peter. Henry tensed. Daisy let her eyes fall closed again.

“Bugger off, Collins.”

He chuckled, going to sit close to Peter so that they could talk. Henry relaxed against her again. Good. They deserved at least a few moments of peace.

They’d more than earned it.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Daisy.”

She whined, scrunching up her face and squeezing her eyes shut tighter in rebellion from where she’d just barely begun to doze on Henry’s shoulder. He shook her lightly.

“Daisy. Wake up.”

“Whyyyyyy,” quietly complaining, she raised her head to squint tiredly at him. He pointed.

“Look.”

Grumbling, she raised her head, gaze directed to where Henry was pointing. She suddenly sat up straight, all memory of tiredness gone as she pressed her face to the window.

“Holy shit!”

He chuckled. Daisy grinned as she watched the dolphin leap from the water, riding the small waves made by the Moonstone. She gasped quietly when another, smaller one appeared beside it, fin and back just barely surfacing from the water before it disappeared beneath the waves again.

Henry’s arm had remained around her waist, chin coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Now you’ve gotten to see your dolphins.”

Glancing back over at him, she grinned. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His finger traced along her cheek, stroking over one of the dimples that appeared there when she smiled. For a moment, she thought that he might kiss her, but instead he cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling away.

“Peter said we would be docking at Weymouth soon.”

She tried her best to hide her disappointment. “That’s good,” her head dropped back down onto his shoulder. “It doesn’t really seem appropriate to say ‘this was nice.’”

A humorless laugh left his lips. Tilting her head to look up at him, she smiled.

“But I have enjoyed…spending time with you.”

The back of his hand petted her cheek, brows furrowing as he hesitated a moment, before he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

“Me too.”

The boat continued to rock gently as they sailed through the dark waters, the sun long ago having dipped beneath the horizon. Soon, almost too soon, the Moonstone was pulling up to the dock. Around them the soldiers were already beginning to stir, more than eager to get off the boat and onto dry land.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, squeezing Henry’s knee and standing, shouldering past the soldiers to down below, where Peter was bending over George’s body, adjusting the blanket that they’d covered him with.

“We’ll wait to move the body. Until everyone else is off.”

“So he won’t see, you mean?”

“Yes,” she rested a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Peter shrugged. “It was the right thing to do,” he looked up at her, suddenly looking very young. “Right?”

“Yeah.”

Grabbing a paper from a stack shoved in a cupboard, she scrawled quick, looping letters onto it, blowing on them to make sure the ink wouldn’t smudge before jogging back upstairs, the wood creaking in complaint against each of her steps.

She froze at the top of the stairs.

“Where’s Henry?”

Mr. Dawson shrugged from where he was collecting his hat and coat.

“He went onto the docks already. You could probably still catch him if you run,” Collins said.

“Thanks,” heart feeling a little like it had fallen from her chest, she squeezed past the disembarking soldiers, stretching up onto her toes to try to see over the shoulders of the taller men all around her.

“Henry!” she shouted when she spotted him. He turned, eyes wide with surprise, a few soldiers bumping into him, muttering out complaints. Jogging, paper still clutched in her hands, she skidded to a stop in front of him. “Here,” she thrusted it out. “The address to the library I work at,” she explained at his furrowed brow. “If you’re ever in Weymouth again…I usually work eight to four on weekdays. So, um. If you ever wanted to catch up or…anything,” she licked her lips awkwardly, bouncing on her toes with anxiousness. Henry took the paper gingerly, looking down at it as if he expected it to disappear.

“You’d…really like to see me again?”

“Of course!”

“O-okay. Okay. I’ll, um,” he glanced over his shoulder at the whistle of a train. “I have to go home. For a little while. But. I’ll come back. I’ll find you.”

Leaning upwards, she pressed a smiling kiss to his cheek, grin teasing as she pulled away. “You better.”

“Bye, Daisy.”

“Good-bye, Henry,” watching wistfully as he began to walk away, she wrapped her arms around herself, walking back to where Peter and Mr. Dawson were standing on the dock. A few men were just hauling George’s covered body out onto a stretcher.

“Thought you ran off,” Mr. Dawson said.

“I did. But now I’m back.”

Sighing heavily, he glanced sadly over George’s body as they men began to carry him away.

“I’m going to have to call his father.”

“You want me to do it?”

“No, no. It needs to be me.”

“Okay.”

“Will you still be coming around at the docks?”

Eyes darting warily to the open ocean, she chewed on her bottom lip, considering carefully. The memory of gunfire, explosions, and screaming still all too present in her mind.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, Peter and I will love to host you for dinner, sometime.”

“That would be nice.”

“Good, good,” he stuffed his hands into his pockets, eyes scanning over the soldiers heading towards the trains. “We did a good thing here today, Daisy.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“Do you need someone to walk you home?”

“Nah. I’ll be fine.”

Patting her shoulder and nodding, he started to turn away. “We’ll see you later, then.”

“Bye, Mr. Dawson.”

Peter moved to follow his father, but not before turning and giving her a hug. Eyes widening in surprise, she rubbed the boy’s back gently.

“Thanks for all your help.”

“Of course, kiddo.”

Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she ambled her way over to where her bicycle was stored, riding slowly down the dark streets to her home. The second she opened the door, she was greeted with a dramatic howl.

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I’m late. I’m sorry,” she scratched Ghost behind the ears, moving to the kitchen to get his food, the dog all but inhaling it the moment she set his bowl down. Sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of freshly brewed tea cradled between her hands, she stroked the husky’s large head as he rested it in her lap.

“I made a new friend today, boy,” she said quietly, mind thinking of bright blue eyes and a quiet promise.

I’ll come back.

Sighing, she scratched Ghost under the chin, his tail wagging. Try as she might to manage her expectations, she couldn’t help the blooming of hope in her chest.

“Maybe, someday, I’ll get to see him again.”

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Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

#shivering soldier #henry wilson #shivering soldier x oc #not an update #henry wilson x oc #dunkirk #my ocs #my fanfiction #daisy preston #daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston x henry wilson #in the heart of war

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emotionalcadaver · 1 year

Text

Part 3: A Remedy for Sorrow

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: The guilt feels as though it is close to destroying him. But maybe he can find some form of forgiveness in Weymouth. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he can find even more than that.

Word Count: 26,314

Notes: Takes place after the events of the film. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson. Please heed the warnings the can be found in the notes of each individual chapter.

Chapters that contain explicit smut will be marked with 🔞 and have the appropriate warnings listed in their corresponding notes.

Masterlists: Main • Series

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Story

Chapter 1: Guilt

Chapter 2: Nerves

Chapter 3: Botany

Chapter 4: Broken

Chapter 5: The Belonging 🔞

Chapter 6: To Stop the Shivering

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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#shivering soldier #henry wilson #dunkirk #shivering soldier x oc #henry wilson x oc #daisy preston #daisy preston x henry wilson #daisy preston x shivering soldier #my ocs #my fanfiction #fanfiction #masterlists #a remedy for sorrow

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emotionalcadaver · 5 months

Text

Part 1: In the Heart of War

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Things go from bad to worse thanks to oil in the water, and the roar of planes overhead.

Word Count: 3,492

Notes: Warnings for depictions of war, PTSD, suicide consideration, major character death, and violence. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

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Chapter 4: Oil

“Henry,” she said softly, stroking at the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Henry.”

He raised his head very slightly, so that she could look at him. Her breathing caught at just how close he was. The way that she could practically count each of his dark eyelashes.

“I didn’t–I didn’t mean to–”

“I know, I know,” she brushed some hair out of his eyes, wiping at the tears rolling down his cheeks with her thumb. “It’s okay. It was an accident.”

He was shaking his head, opening his mouth to say something, but the roar of engines, thundering down from the sky, interrupted him. Their heads jerked upwards. Peter dashed outside, shoes clattering against the deck. Mr. Dawson poked his head out the window.

“Spitfires!” Peter shouted excitedly. The planes were circling a Heinkel, the sound of gunfire making Henry whimper, clinging to her arm. Daisy squeezed his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” she promised. He nodded, pressing his face against her collarbone to wait out the shooting until it was done. Peter was still chattering to Mr. Dawson, their eyes fixed on the planes as they engaged in their deadly dance amongst the clouds.

“The Heinkel’s moving off,” Mr. Dawson announced, as the plane began to retreat.

“Yeah. Oh, no,” Peter’s focus was on the other planes. “Smoke from the spitfire!”

“Watch for a parachute!”

“It’s over,” she told Henry, rubbing circles into the nape of his neck. Slowly raising his head, he peered out from around her at the spitfire slowly descending from the sky. Peter was shouting updates to his father as the boat followed the trajectory of the plane.

Leveling out over the water, the bottom of the spitfire just grazed along the waves, before the engine died and it crashed heavily into the ocean with a small burst of gray smoke. No parachute in sight. The wreckage hovered above the water for only a moment, and then it began to slowly sink.

The rumble of the engine beneath her feet increased, the boat picking up speed. Peter began shouting, warning Mr. Dawson not to overexert the engine. Mr. Dawson ignored him, eyes fixed on what remained of the plane sinking deeper and deeper into the water with every passing second. Peter continued to shout at his father, trying to caution him into slowing down the boat, until Mr. Dawson hollered back, words that Daisy couldn’t quite make out bellowed from where he was positioned behind the wheel. It didn’t really matter. She already knew what the man was thinking. Anxiously, she bit her lip, wondering if anyone would ever tell him that it didn’t matter how many soldiers he saved. Or how many ditching pilots he plucked from the water. It wasn’t going to bring his son back.

Leaning over the side of the boat, she squinted at the wreckage of the plane.

“Do you think he’s alive?” she asked Henry quietly. He peered out beside her, the wind ruffling his fringe, lips pressed in a tight frown.

“I don’t know.”

Her eyes darted cautiously to Mr. Dawson. Even from where she was sitting, she could tell that his shoulders were unusually tense.

“Mr. Dawson’s other son was a pilot. He died a few weeks into the war,” she explained, dropping her voice so they wouldn’t be overheard. Henry blinked slowly, processing.

“So that’s why…”

“Yeah,” she shot another sad glance at the old man’s back. A desperate man who saw his son in every soldier. It was no wonder why he was so determined to come out here and save as many of them as he could.

“Did you know him?” Henry asked cautiously.

“Hm? Mr. Dawson’s son? No. I hadn’t started working at the docks yet.”

“You’re a dock worker?”

“Sort of,” she shrugged. “I’m actually a librarian. But they needed extra help at the docks, with all the men off at war. It keeps me busy. Helps me to feel a little more useful.”

“So that’s what you do when you’re not sailing around pulling stranded sailors from the ocean,” he fiddled with the hem of his uniform. Chuckling softly, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“That and playing with my dumbass dog.”

“You have a dog?” he visibly perked up at the idea. Ah, an animal lover, then. She knew that she liked him for a reason.

“The most over dramatic husky on the face of the earth. I hope that we don’t get home too late tonight. He gets very cross with me if I’m late feeding him dinner.”

That drew a tiny chuckle from him, eyes darting down to look at his hands shyly.

“Do you have any pets?”

“Oh. No. I wanted a dog when I was a kid, but Mum’s allergic.”

Keeping her movements slow, still mindful of not wanting to spook him, she lightly stroked his arm. The boat jerked, slowing suddenly as they drew closer to the wreckage of the plane, almost entirely submerged in the water.

Peter hurriedly grabbed a wooden pole, slamming the pointed end against the glass hatch of the spitfire. Freed from the cockpit, the pilot burst from the water, sputtering.

“Afternoon.”

“I didn’t–I didn’t mean to–”

“I know, I know,” she brushed some hair out of his eyes, wiping at the tears rolling down his cheeks with her thumb. “It’s okay. It was an accident.”

“Spitfires!” Peter shouted excitedly. The planes were circling a Heinkel, the sound of gunfire making Henry whimper, clinging to her arm. Daisy squeezed his shoulder.

“The Heinkel’s moving off,” Mr. Dawson announced, as the plane began to retreat.

“Yeah. Oh, no,” Peter’s focus was on the other planes. “Smoke from the spitfire!”

“Watch for a parachute!”

Leaning over the side of the boat, she squinted at the wreckage of the plane.

“Do you think he’s alive?” she asked Henry quietly. He peered out beside her, the wind ruffling his fringe, lips pressed in a tight frown.

“I don’t know.”

Her eyes darted cautiously to Mr. Dawson. Even from where she was sitting, she could tell that his shoulders were unusually tense.

“Mr. Dawson’s other son was a pilot. He died a few weeks into the war,” she explained, dropping her voice so they wouldn’t be overheard. Henry blinked slowly, processing.

“So that’s why…”

“Did you know him?” Henry asked cautiously.

“Hm? Mr. Dawson’s son? No. I hadn’t started working at the docks yet.”

“You’re a dock worker?”

“Sort of,” she shrugged. “I’m actually a librarian. But they needed extra help at the docks, with all the men off at war. It keeps me busy. Helps me to feel a little more useful.”

“That and playing with my dumbass dog.”

“You have a dog?” he visibly perked up at the idea. Ah, an animal lover, then. She knew that she liked him for a reason.

“The most over dramatic husky on the face of the earth. I hope that we don’t get home too late tonight. He gets very cross with me if I’m late feeding him dinner.”

That drew a tiny chuckle from him, eyes darting down to look at his hands shyly.

“Do you have any pets?”

“Oh. No. I wanted a dog when I was a kid, but Mum’s allergic.”

Peter hurriedly grabbed a wooden pole, slamming the pointed end against the glass hatch of the spitfire. Freed from the cockpit, the pilot burst from the water, sputtering.

“Afternoon.”

∗ ∗ ∗

The pilot’s name was Collins. He was tall and blonde. All grateful, wide smiles and fluttering eyelashes when he shook Daisy’s hand.

Henry hated him almost instantaneously.

Scrunching down in a corner of the deck, he did his best to try to squash the jealousy building in his chest at hearing Daisy laugh at something Collins said. It wasn’t right to feel the way that he did about a woman he’d just met. Especially when all he’d done was make her life and the lives of her friends more difficult.

It wasn’t just the fact that the pilot kept smiling at Daisy. Collins was every inch a handsome, heroic soldier. The type of person that the people back home likely envisioned when they thought of their boys off fighting for them. The exact opposite of the trembling, cowering mess that Henry had been reduced to.

He doubted that Collins had ever pushed an innocent child down a flight of stairs before.

Accident or not, simply thinking about what had happened with the boy was enough to make him feel like he was going to be sick. Staring at his shaking hands numbly, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the self hatred that had settled in his gut.

They probably all wished that they hadn’t picked him up at all. That they had just sailed past and left him for the sea. It’s what he deserved. If they had done that, the boy would be bounding around on deck right now, chattering about planes and drinking tea. Not hidden away down below, suffering from whatever horrific fate Henry had forced upon him.

Gaze flickering out over the rough waves crashing against the edge of the boat, he was tempted to stand and throw himself over the edge. To let the icy black water clutch him in an eternal embrace and drag him down to the bottom of the channel. It would probably be what was best for everybody.

Before he could muster up the courage to rise from his seat, Daisy appeared from below deck where she’d been with Peter and Collins, plopping down heavily beside him, side pressing against his. Practically snuggling against him. She took a small sip of her tea.

“You sure that you don’t want more?” she asked, swirling the dark liquid in her cup.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she looked out over the water. “All these damn hours spent out here, and I haven’t seen a single dolphin,” her lips pouted.

“They probably don’t like all the explosions.”

“That’s what Mr. Dawson said.”

Hesitating a moment, unsure if he actually wanted to open up the conversation or not, he sighed. “Collins seems nice.”

“I guess,” she shrugged. Henry could have wept with relief, the reality of that only adding to the guilt building in his chest. The damn pilot had done absolutely nothing to him, after all. “Peter’s taken quite a liking to him. I wonder if he reminds him of his brother.”

As if summoned by her words, Peter stormed up from below deck, a spiteful look shot in Henry’s direction. Body curling in tightly on itself, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible, he blinked up cautiously.

“Is he all right? The boy?” he asked tentatively.

“No,” Peter spat. “No, he’s not.”

The guilt swirling inside of him nearly tripled, tearing through his organs and ripping into his mind. It forced his head down, breaking eye contact with Peter as his shoulders curled inwards, burying his face in hands, as if that could help alleviate the shame and disgust he felt towards himself. A violet sob wracked so powerfully through his body that he thought he might be sick from it. So focused on drowning in his own misery, he barely even noticed when Daisy rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Peter,” she chastised softly.

An explosion thundered through the air. But this one was much, much closer than any of the others that they’d heard so far. Hands flying upwards to shield his head, Henry cowered against the side of the boat. No, no, no, please, not again, no…

Daisy rubbed at his shoulders, squeezing him close enough to her that he could smell her perfume. Peeking over the side of the boat, he watched as above them two planes engaged in a ferocious, deadly battle. A black explosion of dark smoke burst from the minesweeper sailing not too far away from them, the entire ship almost instantaneously collapsing to one side, sinking down, down, down into the depths of the sea.

The pilot’s name was Collins. He was tall and blonde. All grateful, wide smiles and fluttering eyelashes when he shook Daisy’s hand.

Henry hated him almost instantaneously.

He doubted that Collins had ever pushed an innocent child down a flight of stairs before.

“You sure that you don’t want more?” she asked, swirling the dark liquid in her cup.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she looked out over the water. “All these damn hours spent out here, and I haven’t seen a single dolphin,” her lips pouted.

“They probably don’t like all the explosions.”

“That’s what Mr. Dawson said.”

Hesitating a moment, unsure if he actually wanted to open up the conversation or not, he sighed. “Collins seems nice.”

“Is he all right? The boy?” he asked tentatively.

“No,” Peter spat. “No, he’s not.”

“Peter,” she chastised softly.

∗ ∗ ∗

The wind tore at her clothes, boat thrashing as it fought against the waves. Above them, the crash of gunfire and the roar of engines bellowed from the clouds. Craning her neck up, she could just make out the two small, dark, quickly moving dots in the sky. Beside her Henry curled his shoulders in, pressing against the side of the boat. Daisy squeezed his shoulder.

“There’s men in the water!” Peter pointed. The boat roared ahead as Mr. Dawson pushed the engine, heading towards where bodies were flailing away from the sinking minesweeper. There was another small boat, lingering close to the bigger ship, but it was sinking also, a group of men already swimming away from it. Collins was focusing on the monsters circling each other in the sky, mumbling quiet encouragements to his comrade under his breath.

The soldiers in the water were beginning to make their way closer to them, most left with enough strength to swim the distance from the minesweeper to the Moonstone. As gently as she could, Daisy untangled herself from Henry.

“I have to help, okay?”

He nodded, barely perceptible. Giving his shoulder one last squeeze, she joined Peter and Collins on the other side of the boat, leaning over the edge with her hand outstretched to the men bobbing towards them. Her brows furrowed at the black liquid the men were drenched in, elbowing Collins.

“What is that?”

Narrowing his eyes, he helped her and Peter pull the first man aboard.

“Oil. It’s oil. You’re getting into oil!” he shouted to Mr. Dawson at the wheel.

One right after the other, they heaved men onto the boat. Her arms were beginning to ache, oil staining the front of her shirt a slimy black.

“Fuck,” she yelped, nearly getting pulled over with the weight of the soldier she was trying to pull over the edge. The man was so exhausted he was practically dead weight in her arms. A hand settled on her waist to keep her steady, Henry appearing beside her, hands reaching out to help. Casting him a grateful glance, he gave her a tiny nod, hands already reaching for the next soldier.

Mr. Dawson was beckoning the soldiers pulled onboard encouragingly, gently ordering them to head below to make room for the others. The poor men would probably be packed in like sardines down there. Peter’s head snapped around, seemingly just realizing that there were men headed down the steep stairs. He rushed quickly towards them.

“Careful! Careful down there!” he called out. Daisy straightened, slipping away quietly to leave Henry and Collins to continue heaving men over the side. Some of the other soldiers they’d pulled onto the boat were also beginning to help. Following Peter, she poked her head into the stairwell. One of the soldiers kneeling over George turned to them.

“He’s dead, mate.”

It was like someone had punched the air out of her chest, the shock leaving her head spinning, barely able to comprehend how the sweet, puppy-like boy who’d been trotting about on deck with them only a few hours ago could just be…gone.

Peter recovered first, wiping the shock from his face. “So be bloody careful with him.”

The soldiers began to gently push George aside, one of them grabbing a blanket to cover him with. She straightened to look at Mr. Dawson, his eyes staring and unfocused as he processed the news.

“Um,” they all started at the sound of Henry’s voice, his figure standing in the doorway. He hadn’t been close enough to hear what the soldiers had said. “Will he be okay? The boy?”

That moment seemed to stretch on forever, her and Mr. Dawson staring at Peter, who looked a bit like a deer caught in headlights. Gone was the venomous anger he’d been directing towards Henry ever since George’s injury. Something else, a quiet, understanding kindness, taking its place.

“Yeah.”

Henry’s shoulders sagged in relief, glancing back outside, a pair of soldiers pushing past him to get to the stairwell. Eyeing his back as he wandered back over to Collins to continue helping, Daisy was struck with a sudden thrum of her own relief, so powerful she could have collapsed with it. Or at the very least given Peter a hug. But she did neither, instead just looking back at him to find his eyes darting nervously between hers and Mr. Dawson’s, a quiet question held within them. They both nodded their approval.

It would accomplish nothing but to add to the already colossal weight of trauma and pain Henry carried on his shoulders to tell him the truth. Maybe someday, when everything wasn’t so raw, he could know. But not now.

Resting a thankful hand on Peter’s shoulder, she squeezed once, giving him a small, sad smile, before she returned outside to help Henry and Collins. A few other boats had converged upon the wreckage, helping to scoop up the survivors still floating in the water.

She was so focused on the men in the water, she’d almost forgotten about the planes soaring overheard. Not until the remaining men clinging to what remained of the minesweeper started screaming, hurtling themselves from the ship. The remaining men in the water began to shout, swarming towards the Moonstone like rats, crying out and reaching towards them desperately.

Looking up, she was met with the sight of the enemy plane, heading straight towards them. The lone spitfire behind it firing madly in an attempt to bring it down. Smoke erupted from the enemy plane and it began to fall in an arch from the sky. Beside her, Henry and Peter were still bustling about, trying to pull aboard the frantic, howling men still in the ocean’s clutches. But Collins had gone very still, his eyes darting from the men still screaming in the water, drenched in oil, to the plane currently plummeting towards the sea.

“Collins?”

He turned to Mr. Dawson. “Go,” his voice raised to a yell. “Go! Go! Go!”

Henry seized onto her arm, the boat jerking with how fast it began barreling through the water. Her hand fisted in the front of his uniform to keep herself from falling, eyes remaining fixed on the falling plane. It hit the water, and a massive fireball burst from the waves. So hot she could feel some of the warmth even from where she stood. In response to the explosion, Henry dove down, practically taking her with him, cowering against the side of the ship. Most of the soldiers surrounding them responded in kind, diving for the ground with their hands shielding their heads. In the distance, she could hear the wailing howls of the men still in the water, the ones covered in oil screaming as their bodies were set aflame. Her nose twitched with the scent of burning flesh and she almost gagged, hands flying to her ears to try to stop the horrible noises of men dying around them. Crouching down next to Henry, he wrapped an arm around her, letting her press her face to his shoulder until the cries ceased.

Collins’s warning had saved them; the Moonstone far enough away from the oil that it wasn’t caught up in the blast. Rising slowly from her place huddled against Henry’s side, she glanced around at the other soldiers, the majority of them covered in foul smelling, greasy black oil, most looking at best just a little dazed and at worst completely catatonic.

Breathing deeply, she balled her hands up into fists in an attempt to quell the sudden tremors that had overtook them.

“Right,” she exhaled. “Who would like some tea?”

“I have to help, okay?”

“What is that?”

Narrowing his eyes, he helped her and Peter pull the first man aboard.

“Oil. It’s oil. You’re getting into oil!” he shouted to Mr. Dawson at the wheel.

One right after the other, they heaved men onto the boat. Her arms were beginning to ache, oil staining the front of her shirt a slimy black.

“He’s dead, mate.”

Peter recovered first, wiping the shock from his face. “So be bloody careful with him.”

The soldiers began to gently push George aside, one of them grabbing a blanket to cover him with. She straightened to look at Mr. Dawson, his eyes staring and unfocused as he processed the news.

“Um,” they all started at the sound of Henry’s voice, his figure standing in the doorway. He hadn’t been close enough to hear what the soldiers had said. “Will he be okay? The boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Collins?”

He turned to Mr. Dawson. “Go,” his voice raised to a yell. “Go! Go! Go!”

Breathing deeply, she balled her hands up into fists in an attempt to quell the sudden tremors that had overtook them.

“Right,” she exhaled. “Who would like some tea?”

∗ ∗ ∗

They didn’t get far from the sight of the oil blast before more trouble found them. It was disturbingly quiet on the boat, considering how many people were on it. Most of the soldiers were sitting silently in curled positions. Some accepted her offers of tea, but most seemed to just want to be left alone, shivering beneath their blankets. Peter helped her brew and deliver the cups, while Collins stood watchfully on deck, she suspected keeping as much of an eye on the soldiers as he was on the skies and horizon.

He straightened suddenly, gaze fixed on a little dark blot in the sky, headed towards them. Shielding her eyes from the sun, Daisy squinted, trying to make out what it was. Based on Collins’s reaction, she was guessing that it wasn’t good. From behind the wheel, Mr. Dawson was also observing the approaching plane.

“That’s a fighter,” Collins said. Well, fuck, then.

“Yes, an Me 109 from the south. Peter, you take the tiller. Listen for my instructions!” Mr. Dawson emerged outside, leaning against the side of the boat, he began rambling directives to Peter. Taking a step back, Daisy hovered close to Henry. Around her, the soldiers were growing restless, the sound of the fighter’s engines slowly building panic, the roar growing louder and louder with every moment. Like a great monster was descending upon them from the sky to tear them apart or devour them whole. Henry leaned to the side, to watch the skyline, before hunching back in on himself.

“Before he fires, he’s going to drop his nose. I’ll give you the signal,” Mr. Dawson told Peter.

They all had their eyes glued to the plane.

“Now?”

“No, no, wait!” Mr. Dawson raised a cautionary hand. “Wait for him to commit to his line.”

She stretched up on her toes, trying to see the fighter heading straight for them.

“Now!”

Henry shot up from where he was hunched, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her down beside him, body curling around hers at the same moment a crack of gunfire burst from the sky. The boat swerved dangerously, almost sending a few of the men tumbling. But the shot missed, hitting the water right beside where she and Henry huddled. For a moment, they all braced themselves, waiting for the plane to come back around, but instead it continued forward, abandoning them for a bigger prize. Breaths heaving, heart hammering, she slowly lifted her head for a better look, not really listening as Mr. Dawson and Collins conversed. She was a little too busy trying to catch her breath after the sudden brush with death.

Henry was trembling violently, his arms still around her. She wriggled an arm free to wrap around his back, rubbing at his shoulder blades. Mr. Dawson helped her all but scoop the shivering soldier up, guiding him to sit near the wheel. He patted Henry comfortingly on the shoulder while she sat down heavily beside him. Still shaking, he leaned silently to the side until his head was on her collarbone. Looping an arm around his back, he all but cuddled up to her. She didn’t mind. He was warm, his hair soft where she rested her cheek on the top of his head.

Mr. Dawson looked over his shoulder at them from where he stood at the wheel, and snorted. Rolling her eyes, she let them slide closed.

“Shut up, old man.”

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Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

#shivering soldier #shivering soldier x oc #henry wilson #henry wilson x oc #not an update #dunkirk #daisy preston #daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston x henry wilson #my ocs #my fanfiction #in the heart of war

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emotionalcadaver · 1 year

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In the Heart of War

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: War is cruel, and no one who wanders into its jaws comes away unchanged.

Series: Part 1 of Cold Waters & Sunlit Gardens

Word Count: 14,829

Notes: Takes place during the events of the film. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson. Please heed the warnings the can be found in the notes of each individual chapter.

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Chapter 1: Into War

Chapter 2: Shivering

Chapter 3: Not Going Back

Chapter 4: Oil

Chapter 5: Maybe

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

Next Part

Series: Part 1 of Cold Waters & Sunlit Gardens

Main Masterlist

#daisy preston #daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston x henry wilson #henry wilson #shivering soldier #shivering soldier x oc #henry wilson x oc #my ocs #dunkirk #fanfiction #in the heart of war #masterlists

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emotionalcadaver · 1 year

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Part 4: Scabbed Over

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: For the first time in years, Daisy returns to her hometown.

Word Count: 4,545

Notes: Warnings for depictions of PTSD and references to past eating disorder, past cheating, and past abuse. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

Masterlists: Main • Series

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The delicate China clinked softly as Daisy balanced the two saucers holding the teacups in her palms, carrying them with intense care from the kitchen back into the living room.

“Thanks, Dais,” Violet said, taking the cup of tea from her, sipping at it lightly. Sinking into the spot next to her little sister on the couch, Daisy took a gulp from her own teacup, thankful for the comforting warmth that the tea brought.

Violet had arrived in an hour or so ago from the train station, having gotten settled enough for them to begin to chat.

“How’s the wedding planning coming along?” she asked. Violet sighed heavily.

“Stressful. Mum’s been driving me insane. I got told off the other day because she didn’t like the flower arrangements I chose. And then there was all this drama between two of my bridesmaids last week…honestly, I’m thankful to have gotten away for a little while.”

“I bet.”

“Speaking of which…”

Sighing, she set down her teacup on the table. “Vi…”

“I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, but it really would mean the world to both me and Mickey if you came.”

“You do realize if I come you’re running the risk of the mother of the bride chasing the sister of the bride around with a broomstick, right?”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Violet hesitated. “I think.”

Daisy looked at her sister’s big, pleading eyes and sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

“How’s Dad?” she asked finally, after a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on forever. As it always did whenever they approached the awkward subject of discussing their parents.

“Oh, fine. Getting slow. His knees have been acting up,” Violet took another sip of her tea. “I keep trying to get him to go to the doctor about it, but he’s so stubborn,” she shot another look Daisy’s way. “He misses you.”

“Mm,” she picked up her tea again to take a deep drink so that she wouldn’t have to answer. “I thought that we could just go to the pub for dinner. I invited Henry to come join us. I hope that’s okay.”

Violet’s eyes glimmered to life excitedly. “Not at all! I can’t wait to meet him, after everything that you’ve told me,” she shook her head. “I still can’t believe that you met on that boat you took out with the Dawsons during the evacuation. That is so romantic.”

She wanted to tell her sister that it really wasn’t. That the whole experience had been terrifying and by the end she’d been covered in sweat and oil and surrounded by dead-eyed, terrified men, with her friend dead below the deck. But she kept her mouth shut.

“Look, Vi, he can be quite…shy and skittish, so please–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be nice,” Violet raised an eyebrow, lips pressing into a smile.

“What?”

“Your face changes when you talk about him,” she said, grinning. Daisy groaned, lifting her teacup back to her lips.

“Shut up.”

∗ ∗ ∗

A twinge of anxiousness clenched in his chest as the pub came into view. Daisy had said that her sister was nice and easy going, if a little overenthusiastic at times. He hoped with queasy nervousness that things went well. Violet was the only member of Daisy’s family that he knew of with whom she had a truly positive relationship. He wanted to make a good impression on her.

He spotted them in a booth near the back of the pub. Daisy waved to him when she spotted him, and the woman beside her looked him up and down, assessing, as he approached, leaning over to whisper something into Daisy’s ear that had her rolling her eyes.

Violet looked a lot like Daisy. Which shouldn’t have really been all that surprising; they were sisters after all. But it still caught him off guard. They had the same brown hair and hazel eyes, but Violet’s hair was longer, her face more oval where Daisy’s was more rounded.

He shook her extended hand nervously in greeting, sliding into the booth to sit beside Daisy. Violet was nice enough, if a bit overexcited about everything.

There was a shock of panic that spread through him when Daisy murmured something about needing the ladies’ room, sliding out of the booth before he had time to fully process that she was leaving. For a moment he stared at Violet a little like a deer caught in headlights, unsure of what to say.

“It really is nice to meet you,” he said timidly. Violet smiled at him, taking a sip of her drink.

“Likewise. I’m glad that Daisy has someone. And that you can look out for her. I worry about her, down here all on her own, you know?”

“Oh, um, it’s no problem.”

“She mentioned that you were a soldier?”

His shoulders tensed at the mention, looking down at his hands. “Yeah. Was discharged after Dunkirk.”

“My Mickey was discharged after he took a helping of shrapnel to the leg. He has to walk with a cane now,” she shook her head. “I’m sorry, for whatever it was that you had to go through.”

“Thank you. I’m…sorry about your fiancé.”

Violet shrugged. “I don’t mind. I didn’t fall in love with him for his mobility,” she cracked a bitter grin. “The only one who seems to care at all is Mum. She keeps telling me that I deserve better than a cripple,” she shook her head, a shot of anger twisting her features, but only for a second. “I told her that if she wanted an invitation to the wedding, she needed to cut it out with that type of talk, but I can still tell that she’s thinking it.”

“Your mum sounds like a real piece of work.”

“Ah. So Daisy’s already told you about her. Yeah, she is. If it weren’t for Dad, I probably would have moved away too. Or at least put a little more distance between myself and her,” she picked at her salad, eyes glancing over the plates of food on the table. Chewing slowly, her brows furrowed together, gaze faraway like she was remembering some distant memory. “Has she been eating alright?”

“What?”

“Daisy. Has she been eating alright?”

“Oh,” another wave of awkwardness washed over him. After Daisy had told him about her past issues with food when she was a teenager, he’d made a silent mental note to keep an eye on how she was eating. He’d never really noticed anything out of the ordinary. “I-yes?”

“Good,” Violet nodded, looking back down at her salad. “I always worry so much about her…”

He opened his mouth to say speak, but before he could get the words out, Daisy was sliding into the spot beside him again, smiling at them both as she picked up her burger and took a bite from it. Her side brushed slightly against his where they were squeezed in next to each other. Warm. And when she giggled at something Violet had said, the way that her entire face lit up and her nose scrunched slightly made him want to wrap an arm around her waist and press his lips into her hair.

Clearing his throat roughly, he glanced quickly back at his food. Before his mind could get away from him.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Henry seems nice,” Violet commented, grunting as she adjusted her grip on her suitcase. “I like him.”

“I’m glad,” Daisy murmured, Violet shot her a look and she rolled her eyes. “What?”

Her little sister grinned. “He’s handsome.”

“Vi–”

“Relax, I’m happy for you,” Violet grinned. “You really will think about it? Coming for the wedding?”

Daisy sighed. “Yeah, I will.”

Her little sister beamed, throwing her arms around Daisy’s shoulders and squeezing her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Ring me as soon as you know.”

“I will. Call me when you get it?”

“Will do. Love you.”

“Love you too, Vi.”

She watched as her sister boarded the train, waving as it pulled out of the station and began to chug away. Hands in her pockets, she turned on her heel, listening to the little clicks of her shoes against the cobblestones as she walked the short way home. Ghost greeted her at the door with a wagging tail and happy yips.

“Where’s Henry, boy?” she asked, following the dog to the backyard, where Henry was kneeling in the garden. “Hey.”

He looked up. “Hi,” tugging off his gloves, he rose, brushing soft dirt from his pants. “Violet’s train got off okay?”

“Yeah,” she sat down in one of the chairs on the patio.

“What’s wrong?”

“She wants me to come up to Newport for the wedding.”

“Oh,” he inclined his head. “You’ve never gone back home.”

“No, I haven’t,” her shoulders slumped. “I want to say no, but…she’s so hopeful about me coming every time she brings it up, and after everything she’s done for me in the past…really, I should be able to suck it up and spend one weekend back there for her.”

“So what’s holding you back? Is it your mother?”

“My mother, Adam, Claudia…everyone. I don’t know how I’m going to handle all of the questions, the stares…” just the idea of it all was enough to make her heart thunder painfully in her chest. “And I’ll be going alone, on top of that,” she let out a small, self deprecating chuckle. “I can only imagine the things that everyone will be saying about me behind my back.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go alone, then.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You can’t mean–”

“Why not?” he shrugged. “If it’ll help make the whole thing more bearable for you, I don’t mind.”

“Henry…”

“It’s just an offer,” he strode to her, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Something to think about.”

“Okay,” she wrapped her arms around herself, leaning closer to him on instinct. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

∗ ∗ ∗

“Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” Adam grunted, not glancing up from his cards. A few of the other boys at the table exchanged looks.

“Daisy Preston’s back in town.”

“Oh, shit, really? I didn’t think she’d show,” Donald said.

“She and Violet are close. If anything was gonna get her to come back down here, it would be Vi and Mickey’s wedding,” John added.

Adam swallowed, taking great care not to show too much emotion at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. “Where’s she staying?”

“Violet’s. I think Hattie and Mary ran into her when they were there for some bridesmaid’s business.”

“That true, Mary?” he asked as one of the aforementioned women stepped into the room, hauling another ice chest of beers for them.

“Is what true, Adam?”

“You saw Daisy at Violet’s?”

“Oh,” her eyes widened, just a bit. “Yeah, just briefly, though, yanno? We didn’t really get much of a chance to sit down and talk with her.”

“How’d she look?”

Mary shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. “She, uhh, she looked good, Adam.”

“Tell him the other thing, Mary. That you told me,” Donald ordered his wife. She stuttered, looking reluctant as she pressed her lips together.

“She wasn’t alone.”

“What?” Adam asked.

“She brought some guy with her. Name’s Henry. He was a soldier at Dunkirk before he was discharged,” and then, gaze fixed down onto her shoes, she mumbled, “he was nice.”

“She’s married?”

“No. No, not married,” Mary’s cheeks turned bright red. John hooted, looking down at his cards and shaking his head while he grinned.

“I always knew she was a slut. What was he like?”

“He, um,” Mary glanced nervously at Donald. “Like I said, he was nice. Quiet. Daisy really seems to like him.”

Adam stared at one single spot on the table, jaw flexing. “Thank you, Mary.”

“Sure thing, Adam,” she mumbled, rushing from the room back to the kitchen. Adam’s finger tapped irritably against the cards in his hands. Over the years, he’d imagined what a reunion with Daisy would look like over and over again. More times than he could count.

In not one of those scenarios did she return to Newport with another man.

∗ ∗ ∗

She braced her hands against the vanity, drawing in slow, deep breaths as she did her best to keep herself from the brink of having a panic attack.

“You okay, love?” Henry asked, approaching her slowly. They’d barely been in Newport for over twenty four hours, the entire goal of the weekend to get in for the wedding, then out as soon as it was done.

“Mhm.”

He moved to press himself against her back, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “You’re lying.”

“I’ll be fine,” her voice broke on the last word, greatly undercutting her argument.

“Daisy, Daisy, shh,” Henry cooed. “It’ll be okay,” he dropped his head so he was speaking directly into her ear. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“I wish that I’d just stayed home.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “But this’ll make Violet happy, right? And then we can go home. On the first train tomorrow. Just one more day. That’s all you have to do.”

She closed her eyes, nodding as he threaded his fingers through hers, squeezing. “Thank you for coming with me.”

His lips brushed her forehead. “Of course,” glancing up at them in the mirror, he smiled charmingly at their reflection. “You look beautiful.”

She blushed, scrunching in on herself, which just resulted in her leaning back further into his chest. “You’re just trying to charm me.”

“Mm,” his nose brushed along the sensitive skin of her neck. “Is it working?”

“Hm. Maybe,” she giggled, letting her head fall fully against his chest, looking up at him lazily. He pecked her lips, then took her hand.

“Let’s go. Otherwise we’ll be late.”

Still a little shaky, she linked her arm with his, allowing him to guide her down the stairs of Violet’s house and outside, down the path that led towards the little church where the ceremony would be held. Already, there was a decent amount of people gathered inside, milling around and chatting to one another. A few of them cast stares their way and Daisy fought the urge to shrink in on herself.

“That’s my dad over there in the front row,” she didn’t see her mother. Probably off tending to Violet.

“You want to go say hello?”

“Probably should.”

Henry steered them through the rows, shooting polite smiles to the few guests that they passed.

“Dad?” Daisy rested a hand on her father’s shoulder timidly. He looked up from the program and smiled.

“Daisy, you came!” he stood a little unsteadily and pulled her into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” she cleared her throat. “Dad, this is Henry.”

Her father looked her plus one over appraisingly, but with a big smile. He shook Henry’s hand enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. Violet’s already told me all about you.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Henry said, and she squeezed at his arm reassuringly. Of her two parents, her father was the easy one.

“Are you sitting up here with us?” her father asked. Daisy shook her head.

“No, I had Violet put us further back. I didn’t want to steal away any attention,” not to mention the thought of sitting beside her mother through the whole ceremony filled her with anxious nausea. Glancing around the church, she froze at the sight of a couple walking into the church, arm in arm. “What are Adam and Claudia doing here?” she knew for a fact that Violet hadn’t spoken much to either of them, after what they’d done. She couldn’t imagine her willingly inviting them. Her father looked down at his feet with a deep sigh.

“Your mother insisted that Vi invite them.”

“Why?”

“Something about them being practically family.”

Daisy felt her stomach turn.

“It caused quite a row between the two of them, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Mm.”

Henry gave her a tiny tug on the arm. “We should go find our seats.”

“Yeah,” she glanced to her dad. “We’ll talk later at the reception.”

“Okay, honey.”

She could feel his sad gaze on her back as she let Henry lead her away.

“You alright?” he asked, dipping his head to murmur in her ear. They slid into their assigned pew, Daisy fiddling with her program while Henry rested his palm on her thigh.

“Yeah. I should have been prepared for it. Mum adored Adam. And she liked Claudia probably more than she ever liked me.”

Henry slipped his arm around her shoulders comfortingly, kissing the top of her head in silent encouragement.

∗ ∗ ∗

He stared at her from across the pews, seated beside a handsome man with dark hair and striking blue eyes. As Adam watched, the man wrapped his arm around Daisy’s shoulders, pressing a kiss into her hair. She looked more or less the same. Round face, big hazel eyes, short brown hair. She wasn’t as skinny as she had been when they were teenagers, and where she had been bony and gaunt before, there were now soft, filled out curves. But her legs still looked strong, from what he could see of them. He wondered if she was still skating, or if after everything that had happened she’d soured towards the whole experience. She fiddled with her program, face serious and grave.

Then the man beside her said something, mumbled into her ear, and her face changed, lips pulling upwards, cheeks dimpling as she turned to look at her date, grinning at him, then giggling, smiling down at their hands as they intertwined.

Adam barely even recognized her.

∗ ∗ ∗

The ceremony was lovely, and went off without a hitch. And then they were all being herded outside, towards the venue where the reception would be held. Daisy continued to cling to Henry’s arm like a lifeline, as the time grew nearer and nearer to when she knew that she would have to at least say hello to her mother.

Hopefully that would be the beginning and end of it, and she wouldn’t have to speak to her much more after that. In the entranceway, there was a huge collage of pictures from both Violet and Mickey’s childhoods, all the way up to the present day. Henry nudged her, pointing to a picture.

“Is that you?”

“Yeah,” it was a photo of her and Violet as teenagers, sitting out on the porch together. It wasn’t lost on her that there weren’t any other pictures of her outside of that one. Violet must have managed to sneak it in somehow. She stared at the gaunt, frighteningly skinny girl in the photo and shivered at the memories it coaxed up. Henry squeezed her waist.

Their assigned seats were at the table with the rest of the out of towners, and she silently thanked Violet for the thought. It meant less awkward conversation, at the very least.

“I didn’t expect your mum to look so much like you and Violet,” Henry commented, eyeing the table where the parents were seated.

“What did you expect?” she asked around a mouthful of soup.

“Honestly? Cloven hooves and horns wouldn’t have surprised me.”

She snorted, almost choking on her soup, and he shot her a conspiratorial grin. Violet came bounding over to them eventually, pulling Daisy into a strong hug that squeezed her ribs.

“I’m so, so glad you came,” Violet whispered genuinely into her ear. “Really. It means a lot.”

Daisy nodded. “Of course.”

For the most part, everything was going fine, until dinner ended and the dancing started.

“Incoming,” Henry managed to provide her with some semblance of a warning. She looked up just in time to see her mother making her way over to them, one hand holding her shawl tight around her shoulders, lips pursed and head high.

A sudden, violent wave of panic rose up in her chest, and she had to fight the urge to dive under the table or burst into tears. Oh, fuck. Fuck. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t do this–

Henry’s fingers enclosed around hers, warm and comforting, and she latched onto the sensation frantically, shifting a little closer to him, until she could feel the warmth from his chest. Safe.

“Daisy,” her mother said stiffly, coming to a stop in front of them.

“Hello, Mum.”

Her mother’s eyes, the same shade of hazel as Daisy’s and Violet’s, slid over her, lips pressing together in disapproval. She wondered what aspect of her appearance so offended her. Was it the dress? Her hair? Her finally being at a healthy weight?

“Mum, this is Henry,” she said, hating how weak her voice had become. Her mother’s assessing gaze moved from her to Henry, looking him up and down. She didn’t offer to shake his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Henry said politely, carefully.

“Your husband?” her mother asked plainly.

“Erm, no–”

Her mother’s jaw set in silent, cold disapproval. “I would have thought,” her mother spoke slowly, deliberately. “That of my two children, you have been the one to be married off first. Being the eldest and all.”

Daisy swallowed hard. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get your timetable,” she bit her tongue before she could say something more inflammatory.

“I just mean…what could this one,” she gestured with a sweeping hand to Henry, “even want from you now? You’ve taken too long. You’re in your forties. That’s certainly too old to have children.”

“Actually, I don’t really think that I want–” Henry started to say.

“Quiet, boy.”

His eyes just about bugged out of his head, mouth opening to respond, but Daisy squeezed down hard on his fingers.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” she said firmly. Her mother’s brow rose. “And what I do with my life really isn’t any of your business anymore,” she turned away. “I’m here for Violet.”

A trembling anger filled her mother’s eyes. “That’s no way to talk to your mother, Daisy.”

“But you’re not my mother. Remember? That’s what you told me when you threw me out of the house all those years ago,” she shrugged. “So really, I don’t owe you shit.”

“You watch your language–”

“Henry, come on,” she grabbed him by the hand, rushing towards the doors that led to the patio outside. “Good bye, Matilda,” she said to her mother, beginning to walk away, then stopped. “And by the way, I’m not forty until next March,” beginning to walk again, she added under her breath, “you neglectful bitch.”

“Holy Jesus, how did you live with that for eighteen years?” Henry asked as soon as they were outside. “You okay?”

“Mm,” she massaged at her brow. Now that the interaction was over, she was beginning to feel shaky again. She leaned in closer to him. “Put your arms around me?”

He circled her with them, biceps flexing as he squeezed her in close. “She’s wrong, you know,” he said. Daisy nodded, closing her eyes as she settled against his chest.

“I know.”

∗ ∗ ∗

When he suggested to Claudia that they approach Daisy at least to say hello, she’d looked at him like he’d just asked her to drink spoiled milk, instead returning to her drink and her friends at the bar. Adam supposed that it shouldn’t have been that surprising, considering how ugly things had gotten between her and Daisy when his side thing with Claudia had come to light.

So, he wandered over to where she was standing with her date on his own. They were eating their slices of cake, chatting animatedly about something. Daisy’s smile faded when she spotted him approaching them.

“Hi, Daisy.”

“Hullo, Adam,” she said, blinking at him, once. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You look good.”

“This is Henry,” she said, not acknowledging the compliment. He nodded to the man beside her, who was looking at him with apprehensive, curious blue eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hullo.”

“It’s good to see you,” he tried again with Daisy. She looked at him with an expression that told him that she knew exactly what it was he was trying to do, and was thoroughly unimpressed.

“How’s Claudia?”

He battled back a wince and forced a smile on his face. Like his marriage wasn’t a complete and total disaster. Like he and his wife didn’t hate each other’s guts. Like he didn’t regret letting Daisy slip through his fingers when he should have held onto her. “She’s good.”

“And the kids?”

“They’re fine. They’re at their grandmother’s.”

“That’s nice.”

The awkwardness between them all was so potent, it made him want to scream. “Yeah.”

The band started to play something slow and sweet. Henry rested a hand on Daisy’s shoulder, leaning in closer to her. “You want to dance?”

Adam wanted to laugh. Of course she didn’t want to dance. Daisy hated dancing. And she was shit at it too. His toes throbbed from the memory of prom night, how she’d kept stepping on them. And alright, maybe he had lost his temper a little with her, but really. If she didn’t want to get yelled at she should have learned to dance properly.

“Sure,” Daisy said, taking Henry’s hand, and Adam’s jaw just about dropped to the floor. She shot one last glance his way. “Nice to see you, Adam,” but her voice sounded rather bored, like she was indifferent to his very existence. Slumping down into a seat on the edge of the dance floor, he watched with silent befuddlement as Daisy danced with Henry. She stepped on his toes a couple of times, but where Adam expected him to display annoyance at the action, Henry just grinned, like it was some adorable little quirk, pulling her close with a hand on her waist until she laughed, cheeks turning pink as the former soldier buried his face in her neck, open and blatant in his affection for her.

∗ ∗ ∗

They were sprawled out on Violet’s couch, both a little tipsy, with Daisy’s head on Henry’s chest, his hands curling through her hair. Violet and Mickey had caught a late night train to their honeymoon destination, leaving the house to Daisy and Henry for the night before they caught the early morning train back to Weymouth.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Daisy said, eyes closed as she cuddled closer to Henry’s chest. His shirt was half unbuttoned, leaving her to stroke a tentative finger along the exposed bare skin.

“Of course,” he nosed at her hair. “You ever think that you’ll be coming back after this?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Maybe for a funeral if someone died or something…but other than that, no. I don’t think so.”

“I can’t say that I blame you.”

“Mm,” she reached up to rub at his jawline. “My insane family didn’t chase you away?”

“Of course not,” he adjusted their positioning, so that he was curled in behind her, his chest pressed firmly to her back. He kissed her neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

That morning, they got on the train to Weymouth. Not once did either of them look back.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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emotionalcadaver · 1 year

Text

Broken Pieces

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Henry struggles to adjust to life following his dischargement.

Series: Part 2 of Cold Waters & Sunlit Gardens

Word Count: 1,444

Notes: Warnings for PTSD, mention of war, vomiting, mention of child death, and mention of suicide attempt. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

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Maybe the next time his mother came to visit he could have her cut it for him.

But that Henry was dead. He’d drowned out there in the channel, pulled far below the ink black waves.

He’d tried to throw it away far more times than he could count. But every time he couldn’t bring himself to. Don’t ask him why; he certainly didn’t have any idea.

Weymouth could be a place to start over. Begin again.

He was a murderer. A fucking murderer, he’d killed that child. He’d just been a sweet young boy, and Henry killed him.

And Daisy, sweet and bright with her beautiful hazel eyes and dimpled smile, deserved far better than the jagged, broken pieces of a man that he could offer her.

He crumpled the paper up into his palm, squeezing it tight, willing himself to be strong. To not be selfish. She deserves better than me.

She deserves better than me.

But he would not burden her with that task. He would not put it on her to fix him.

He was pretty sure that he was unfixable, anyway.

She deserves better than me.

He told it to himself one last time, and let the paper fall into the trash can.

Nothing, you did nothing wrong. It was me, all me.

Please just forget about me.

But, god, that hopeful look in her eyes when she’s held the paper out to him…

It wasn’t like it mattered if he threw it away or not. He’d spent so much time just staring at it that he knew the address like the back of his hand.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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Series: Part 2 of Cold Waters & Sunlit Gardens

Main Masterlist

#shivering soldier #shivering soldier x oc #henry wilson #henry wilson x oc #dunkirk #daisy preston #daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston x henry wilson #my ocs #fanfiction #broken pieces #my fanfiction

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emotionalcadaver · 1 year

Text

Part 3: A Remedy for Sorrow

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Just as Daisy starts to fear she'll never see Henry again, he steps back into her life.

Word Count: 3,697

Notes: I would recommend reading In the Heart of War first. Warnings for references to past child death and abuse, and depictions of PTSD and guilt. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

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Chapter 1: Guilt

The ladder creaked precariously under Daisy’s feet as she pulled herself up it, one hand gripping firmly to the wood while the other clutched a stack of books to her chest. Getting to the top of the ladder, she ran her fingers along the spines of the books lining the shelf, carefully sliding each novel she was holding into its proper place. Clamoring back down slowly, she scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, fighting off the weary heaviness that pulled at them.

She hadn’t slept well the night before. Hadn’t been sleeping well at all, as a matter of fact. Not since Dunkirk.

Whenever she closed her eyes, it was to dream of planes diving down towards her from the sky, or the flash of fire as the oil in the water caught ablaze. The screams of men burning alive all around her.

Heaving exhaustedly, she shook her head, wandering back to the front desk to collect another stack of books that needed to be returned to their proper place in the stacks.

“Daisy,” mumbled old Beryl Wilkins, standing at the front desk, her purse clutched in her hands and coat already half shrugged on. “Are you sure that you’re alright closing on your own, dear?” the older woman asked, blinking at her from behind a pair of thick, round glasses.

“Yes, Mrs. Wilkins, I’m sure,” Daisy said kindly.

“You have your keys?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’ll remember to shut off all the lights?”

“Of course,” honestly. It wasn’t like she’d never closed before. Though it had admittedly been a little while. But still. She would have thought she’d been working at the library long enough for her to be trusted enough to not burn the place down.

“And you’re sure that you’ll be alright, here all on your own? Oh, goodness…maybe I should just stay…”

“No, no, ma’am, please, it’s fine. I’ll be alright. It’s just for another hour, and you know that almost no one comes in here at this time of day anyway. Go enjoy your evening.”

Beryl eyed her for a minute before nodding. “Yes, yes. Alright. Just be careful dear. Are you sure that you don’t want me to have one of the local boys walk you home?”

“I think that I can manage, Mrs. Wilkins,” Daisy said gently. “Have a good dinner with your husband.”

The little old lady looked down, suddenly bashful. Almost giddy. “Oh, I will. It’s our anniversary, you know.”

“Yes, ma’am, I remember,” she began to steer Beryl towards the door.

“Why aren’t you married yet, dear? Such a pretty young woman as you are?”

Oh, not this again. Daisy forced a smile onto her lips. “Just haven’t found the right guy, I suppose.”

“It’s too bad that you never got to meet my Harold,” Beryl said mournfully, shaking her head back and forth. “You two would have hit it off right away, I think.”

“I’m sure we would have,” Daisy said kindly, patting Beryl’s shoulder. Harold had died a few weeks into the war. She remembered. Beryl had been out for over a month, too distraught with grief to even be able to get out of bed. “You go have fun, now, okay?”

“Good-night, dear.”

“Good-night, ma’am,” she blew out a breath of quiet relief as the old woman finally hobbled out the door. She tried her best not to be too put off by Beryl’s insistent mothering. She knew that it came from a place of concern. But still, it was hard to get fully comfortable under it, having grown up with a woman who had been quite the opposite in her demeanor towards her children. Daisy prided herself on her independence and self sufficiency, and any challenges towards that just put her on edge.

Not to mention that the old woman was insistent on playing matchmaker to her younger, unmarried librarians. It had been lucky for her that Beryl had been so busy trying to find suitable matches for Ruth and Cora that she’d left her relatively alone during the time she’d been working at the library.

Apparently not anymore. Great. She would have to nip that one in the bud before it could get too far. The last thing she was interested in at the moment was Beryl shoving every last available man in town–which wasn’t actually that many anymore–at her.

It didn’t help that she was still a bit raw from Henry having never turned up.

Really, she shouldn’t have been all that surprised. The circumstances that they’d met under hadn’t exactly been the best, and it wasn’t like he owed her anything. But still, it stung.

Sighing, she checked the watch around her wrist. Only one hour to go, and then she could close up and head home. She had some leftover casserole that she’d made two nights ago that she could warm up. And Ghost would probably be all pouty over her being away longer than usual. That was fine; Beryl deserved to have a nice night out.

Continuing to log and organize the remaining books in the return bin passed the time quickly, and by the next moment that she glanced at her watch, already thirty minutes had gone by. There was still a small group of teenagers in one of the corners, chatting amongst themselves as they studied. Hauling another pile of mostly hardcover novels, she balanced the stack carefully in her arms. Carrying them past the rows of books until turning into the one she was looking for, she began to hum, almost indistinctly, to herself, sliding the books carefully into their spots on each shelf.

It was when she turned suddenly, to move to the shelves behind her, that the book on the very top of her stack wobbled and fell with a dull thump to the floor, barely missing her toes.

“Oh, bollocks,” clutching the remaining books to her ribs with one arm, she stooped, fingers stretching out to wrap around one edge of the novel’s hard binding. At the same time, another, larger hand swooped downwards, beating hers to the book. Daisy’s gaze snapped upwards, lips parting in stunned surprise as she was greeted with eyes as light blue as the ocean on a clear day. The small cuts that had adorned his face back on the Moonstone were healed, not even leaving a trace of a scar as evidence that they’d been there. His face was still dusted with freckles, shoulders hunched down timidly, eyes full of uncertain fearfulness. He held the book very gently in his large, calloused hand. Like he was afraid he would accidentally break it if he handled it too roughly. Swallowing, he held it out to her gingerly. Daisy didn’t even look down at the book, still staring at him in a combination of shock and awe.

“Henry?”

His eyes darted away from him, sheepish. “I, um,” he cleared his throat. “Hi. I know-I know that’s been…awhile. I’m sorry that it took me so long-oh!” he let out a little yelp as she promptly flung her arms around his middle, not caring as the books she was holding went tumbling to the ground. He staggered back a step in surprise, hand going to rest against the small of her back as he regained his footing, hugging her back, if a little awkwardly.

“I’m so glad to see you!”

Henry made a squeaking little sound, and when she looked up she found that his cheeks had gone scarlet. “It’s-it’s good to see you too.”

Letting him go, she beamed up at him, pushing some hair away from her eyes. “How have you been?”

“Oh. Um, alright, I guess,” but she could see the lie in his face; large, dark bags hanging at his eyes, face gaunt and exhausted. Not entirely unexpected, she supposed. Or rare. The handful of the men who had recently come home from the war looked much the same. Still, she decided that it would probably be for the best not to press.

“That’s good,” bending, she began to gather up the books she’d dropped. Henry bent down to help her.

“I wasn’t sure that you would still be here,” he admitted, handing her the books as she slipped them back into their proper spots on the shelves.

“Usually I don’t work the evening shift, but Mrs. Wilkins was going out with her husband for their anniversary tonight, so I promised that I would cover for her,” she glanced at her watch. “I only have about half an hour left until I have to close up,” sliding the last book back into place, she looked up to find him ringing his hands together anxiously. “I’d worried for a while there that they’d sent you back into combat,” she approached the subject as carefully as she could manage, unsure how he would feel about discussing his time as a soldier.

“Oh. Mm, no. I got discharged pretty much right away,” he looked down. “I was back home, for a little while. Spent some time with my mum and the like.”

“How is she?”

“Getting older,” he sighed. Daisy hummed understandably, indicating with a tilt of her head for him to follow her as she made her way back to the front desk, pulling up an extra chair for him to sit at. “I don’t want to keep you from your work-”

“Oh, no. I don’t have much else to do other than switch off the lights and chase any stragglers out before locking up. Come sit.”

He sank slowly into the seat across from her., still fiddling with his hands. “It’s nice in here. Quiet.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Listen,” he coughed slightly. Shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to show up.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to explain. It’s fine. It must be hard…coming back to everyday life after…everything.”

“It’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“I’m sure,” she reached out to pat his hands, taking note that he didn’t flinch away from her when she did so. “I still think about it all, sometimes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. Every time I hear a plane fly overhead now, I flinch.”

“Are you still working at the docks?”

“Sometimes. I scaled back a bit. Since some of the men who were discharged after Dunkirk came back, they don’t need me as much anyway,” she shrugged. “I still see the Dawsons every once in a while, though.”

Henry looked down, thumbs twiddling together, shoulders curling in. “How are they?” he asked, voice suddenly much more quiet.

“They’re alright,” she braced for him to ask about George, realizing with a panicked skip of her heart that she had no idea how to respond if he did. She could still smell the fresh, damp scent of the upturned earth, see the coffin lowering into the ground…

To her relief, Henry didn’t ask, instead just making a small sound of acknowledgement and nodding. “‘S good.”

Looking back down at her watch, she raised from her seat smoothly. “Let me just turn off the lights, and chase those teenagers out of here. Have you eaten?”

“Oh, um, no, not yet.”

“There’s a nice little pub a few blocks from here…unless you’re tired?”

“No, that-that sounds nice.”

“Okay, one second,” she did one last walk through the library, switching off the lights as she went, checking to make sure there were no stragglers hiding out in the corners or between the stacks. “We’re closing, guys,” she told the teenagers, who grumbled but began to pack up their things, still chattering amongst themselves as they headed for the doors. Returning to behind the front desk for her bag and jacket, she smiled brightly to Henry, who was standing a little awkwardly with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “When did you get in?” she asked once they’d stepped outside, sliding the key into the lock and testing the door to ensure that it had latched properly.

“This evening. Just a few hours ago.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Uh…the little inn right by the train station.”

“Oh, good. That’s the nice one.”

“There’s a bad one?”

“Mhm. The one by the market. Nice location, but I heard they’ve got rats,” a part of her was tempted to offer for him to stay with her, but…it seemed a little too forward. And she didn’t want to overwhelm him. “Pub is this way,” she tugged on her knitted mittens, then stuffed her hands into her pockets to try to help keep them warm. The days were still nice, but the nights often got chilly. A result of being so close to the water, probably. “Are you not cold?” she asked, eyeing the light jacket he was garbed in.

“Oh, no. I run hot,” he assured. Daisy shrugged, bundling down deeper into her coat. It was a relief once they stepped inside the bar, the warmth more than welcome. The pub was quiet, much more so than the one on the other side of town. Part of why she’d chosen it; she figured that Henry probably would prefer a place that didn’t involve loud voices and the sudden smashing of glasses. They found an open booth in one of the far corners and ordered from the waitress.

“I like your mittens,” Henry commented as he watched her tug them off. Daisy felt her cheeks heat, glancing down at the pair of soft knitted material.

“Thanks. I made them.”

“You knit?”

“Yeah. Mostly just scarves and blankets and mittens, those kinds of things,” she smiled gratefully to the waitress as she brought them their drinks. “You still into gardening?” she asked, taking a sip from her beer, recalling what he had told her on the Moonstone during the trip back to Weymouth from Dunkirk.

“Yeah. Had more plants than I knew what to do with back at home.”

“Well, I have a very sad, desolate garden that needs attending to if you’re interested,” she sighed. “I started doing pottery because I thought it would be all cute to make little pots and put my plants in them. Turns out I have a black thumb, though, so now I just have a bunch of empty pots lying around.”

Henry’s cheek dimpled a little when he smiled. “I’d be happy to give it a look.”

“How long are you in town for?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“You don’t have a set date for when you need to get back home?”

He ran a hand through his hair, lightly brushing his fringe from his eyes. “I’m not even sure if I’m going back, actually.”

“Really?”

“Everyone there remembers what I was like…before. And now every time they look at me, I can just feel them thinking about how different I am,” his thumbs rubbed together. “Probably all wondering why I can’t just pull myself back together and be who I was before I left.”

She wanted to tell him that she was sure that no one was thinking that, but she couldn’t. Even after so many years, the memories of how everyone had looked at her back in her hometown of Wales after everything went to hell burned in her mind. People who had watched her grow up, who had all these expectations of who she was going to be, and carried indisputable disappointment in their eyes when she failed to follow through on their hopes for her.

“Sometimes it’s better just to have a fresh start,” was all she said.

“Is that what you did, after you quit skating and your mom disowned you?”

For a moment, she blinked. She hadn’t expected him to remember that. “I suppose so, yeah.”

“Did you ever go back?”

“No,” she fought to swallow back the bubble of shame. “No, I haven’t. My father and my sister come to visit. Sometimes I meet them halfway. But I’ve never gone back to Newport. If I did, Mum would probably either ignore me or try to chase me out of town,” she picked at her cuticle. “Everyone in that part of town where I grew up knows what happened. Mum had this big plan for me and where my life was headed. A plan that she made very public to anyone who would listen. It wasn’t just her expectations that were broken when I decided to go against that; it was everyone’s. They all had this very specific image of who I was going to be and when I didn’t measure up…I couldn’t take the disappointment and judgment that I kept seeing in their eyes,” she shrugged. “So I ran away and never looked back.”

“Have you ever regretted it?”

She hesitated, thinking about it as the waitress swung by with their food. She waited until she’d left before answering. “No. I don’t think that I have,” they both started to eat in silence, silverware clinking against plates.

“I don’t really know what I’m going to do,” Henry admitted in a tired mumble, finally.

“Well, I know most people in town, and I could show you around tomorrow when it’s light, if you’d like? That way at least you’ll know your way to the market and such.”

“Thank you. That would be nice.”

“You could come down to the docks with me sometime if you want. I’m sure that Mr. Dawson would be happy to see you again. They might even have a job opening down there if you were interested,” she kept her tone light, hoping that he wouldn’t feel as though she was putting any pressure on him. When she glanced up, Henry had gone awfully still, eyes wide and staring down at his plate. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“I’m not sure if that would be a good idea.”

Daisy inclined her head. “Why not?”

He put down his fork, eyes darting around. He looked like he might bolt at any second, lips pressing into a trembling line.

“Henry?”

“I’m-I-” his voice broke. “After what I-I did, um, I don’t-I don’t-” his breaths were coming in quick bursts as he started to panic, hands trembling.

Daisy slid swiftly across the rounded booth until she was settled beside him, hand cautiously lifting to touch his shoulder, the other rubbing his back. He had buried his face in his hands, shoulders shivering as he started to cry.

“Henry, Henry, shh, love. It’s okay,” her eyes widened a fraction when his head fell into the crook of her shoulder. Stroking her fingers through his hair, she remained there, keeping utterly still as she tried to soothe him. When his tears finally subsided into just small sniffles, she parted her lips to speak, hesitating as she tried to find something to say.

“I don’t understand how you can even look at me,” Henry mumbled miserably. Her brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“After-after what I did on the boat…”

“Oh, Henry, no on blames you for any-”

“But it was my fault. It was my fault that he died,” he choked on the last word like it was strangling him.

She went still. She had thought that she and the Dawsons had done a good enough job of hiding George’s death from Henry. That he didn’t know about it. “How do you know about that?”

“I saw them carrying his body off of the Moonstone.”

“Oh,” was all she said at first, processing. Henry began to pull away.

“Look, I'll leave in the morning. You don’t ever have to see me again. I just wanted to let you know that I was sorry, and um-”

“Wait, no!” she latched on his arm. “No, don’t go. It’s okay. Really. It wasn’t…it wasn’t your fault, love.”

He still looked so miserable and sad, but he ceased in his attempts to leave the booth, slumping down with his shoulders drawn inwards, hands fiddling with each other. “Yes, it was. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset or tried to take the wheel from Mr. Dawson, or-or-”

“Mr. Dawson could have turned to ship around the second he knew that George’s condition wasn’t improving. Or I could have stayed down below with him for the remainder of the time we were sailing, to keep an eye on him,” she sighed, glancing down. “There were a whole lot of things all of us could have done differently that might’ve helped him. It isn’t just on you,” she looked back up, into those big sad blue eyes.

He didn’t look at all convinced, gaze dropping away, mouth pressed into a frown. “Should I have just left you alone?” he asked finally. Daisy pressed her lips together. It was beginning to make a whole lot more sense why it had taken him so long to come find her. She wondered if that thought had been eating away at him this entire time. Did he think that she hated him? That she didn’t want to see him? That he would be doing more damage by coming back? Leaning towards him, she covered his large hands with one of her own smaller ones.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have given you that paper with the address if I hadn’t wanted to see you again.”

His smile was weak and shaky, but it was a smile nonetheless.

After they finished their dinner, he insisted on paying despite her objections, and he walked her home, hands stuffed into his pockets and head bowed low. And her invitation for him to come inside was met with a shake of his head.

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” she shrugged, fumbling with her keys. “I’ll come pick you up at the inn at around nine o’clock? I’m off all day, so I’ll have plenty of time to show you around.”

“Alright.”

Gulping, then stealing her nerves, she stepped forwards and stretched up onto her toes, cupping the back of his neck and pressing her lips firmly to his cheek.

“Good-night, Henry.”

When she pulled back, his cheeks had flushed pink. “Good-night, Daisy.”

She fought back her smile as she watched his back disappear as he headed back down the road in the direction of the inn.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

#shivering soldier #shivering soldier x oc #dunkirk #henry wilson #henry wilson x oc #daisy preston #daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston x henry wilson #my ocs #fanfiction #my fanfiction #a remedy for sorrow

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emotionalcadaver · 1 year

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Part 3: A Remedy for Sorrow

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Henry knows he will never fully be free of his trauma, but he thinks he may have found a way to live with it.

Word Count: 4,336

Notes: As always thank you so much to everyone for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Warnings for depictions of PTSD and guilt, and references to a past eating disorder, past child abuse, and sexual content. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

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Chapter 6: To Stop the Shivering

Henry awoke with a jerking shudder, pained gasps spilling from his lips. It took him a few long moments to right himself, to realize that he wasn’t still on that sinking ship in the middle of the ocean, dark water threatening to close over his head.

Grimacing, he sat up, his mind taking another moment to realize that this wasn’t his bed. The figure beside him stirred at his movements but thankfully didn’t waken, settling back down into the pillows with a small sound.

For a few minutes, Henry just remained there in the dark, eyes flickering guiltily from his clasped hands and the woman curled up beside him.

Thinking about it all now, he supposed that it was almost inevitable that they would end up in bed together.

It had not been his intention for things to get as far as they had. He hadn’t even intended to take her up on her offer to come visit her at the library that she worked at. But as the weeks dragged on since encountering her on that little boat during what had to be one of the worst days of his life, he found himself feeling lonely. And he couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty spitfire of a brunette, hazel eyes dancing as they looked at him.

His intentions when he had sought her out had been nothing but innocent, only looking for some companionship and understanding of the mess that his mind had become.

But Daisy was beautiful, and he was undeniably attracted to her, even more so the more he got to know her. And she had made it blatantly clear from the beginning that the feeling was mutual.

Despite his apologies when he returned after almost leaving, when he woke up after that first night he spent in Daisy’s bed, he had once again been assaulted by the insecurity and worries that so often plagued him. Torn between the two halves of his mind: the half that wanted to curl up in Daisy’s arms and remain there forever, and the half that wanted to leap aboard the nearest train and run far, far away where he could never potentially hurt her again.

But then that night she came outside while he was tending to the garden, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing his cheek. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to muster up the courage to tell her that maybe it had all been a mistake, but when he turned to face her, she stretched up on her toes and kissed him before he even got a single word out. And before he knew it they were crashing through her small house, falling into bed together in a tangle of limbs and kisses.

The pattern had been going on for a few weeks now.

Henry was sure that eventually the guilt would swallow him up and leave nothing behind, unable to fully shake the fear that he was burdening her. That he would ruin her life. He had done his best to try to stay away from her, and yet he couldn’t. Being around her was near addictive.

And he loved her. He loved her so damn much that it hurt.

Glancing around the dark bedroom, he eyed where his clothes had been haphazardly shed the night before. He could slip out of bed now, get dressed and duck out the door before the sun had even come up. Catch the next train out of Weymouth and put as much distance between them as he could.

It would be the right thing to do, to save her from a life entangled with a man who woke up screaming most nights, who had a damn meltdown at loud noises, who could barely even stand to look others in the eye some days when the guilt in his bones became particularly potent.

But one glance down at her mussed short brown hair and he knew that he couldn’t do that to her. She was too bright and kind. The idea of hurting her, of the look of sadness and confusion when she awoke to find him gone, when he didn’t show up at the library in the evenings like he always did, was unbearable to even think about. Or maybe he was just that selfish. Maybe he wanted the warmth and sweetness that she carried with her all to himself. To feel her arms around him when he awoke sobbing. Her bright, dimpled smile at him from across a table piled with books. The press of her lips to his and the feel of soft skin under his hands when he took her to bed.

Henry didn’t want to hurt her. But he also wanted to tell her that he wasn’t worth it. That she should be spending her time with someone else who could offer her more than the broken pieces of a person that he had to offer. Even though the thought of her with someone else made his heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

There were days where he was so utterly consumed by his guilt, he could barely get out of bed. On those days, he found it hard to even look other people in the eye, to believe that he deserved any sort of kindness or softness. Some days, he almost wished that the Moonstone hadn’t rescued him at all. It would be better if they hadn’t. George Mills would still be alive.

Thinking about the young man was enough to make bile rise in his throat, body spasming with a silent sob that he quickly pushed down to avoid waking Daisy. The kid had been nothing but sweet to him. Bringing him tea, trying to talk to him. And Henry had gone and killed him. It didn’t matter that it had been an accident, or that he had been trying to save them from the horrors awaiting them at Dunkirk. It was him who had enacted the shove that sent George falling to hit his head.

The simple reality of that alone, compounded with the memories of the boy’s quiet whimpers after he had fallen, or of the sight of the body, covered by a simple sheet, being carried off the boat, were enough to make Henry so sick with guilt that he thought he might vomit.

The only way he had found that made it possible to somewhat cope with the reality of that was to not think about it. Sometimes he succeeded. But then it would come to him all of a sudden, a stark reminder of what he had done. And the guilt would set in again. And then he would feel even more terrible, for going a few days without thinking of George, when it seemed that the least he could do would be to always have the boy’s memory in his thoughts.

He had been a quiet, reserved man prior to the events at Dunkirk, but afterwards he had grown to be withdrawn to a near concerning degree. It felt like it was what he deserved, though. To be isolated and alone was the smallest of punishments that he could experience for what he had done. Maybe that was why what he had begun to chase with Daisy felt so wrong. He didn’t deserve to be happy. He didn’t deserve to feel loved. It felt near sacrilegious, to touch Daisy with the same hands he had used to push a young boy to his death.

As if sensing his distress, Daisy stirred again in her sleep, hand reaching out across the mattress until her fingers bumped against his side. After a brief hesitation, Henry let his hand fall down, folding it over hers. The warmth of her hand against his clammy skin was enough to soothe a bit of the anxious, prickling guilt that itched beneath his skin.

Maybe it actually would be alright. She had already seen him at his absolute worst, and yet she still had invited him to come visit her, to stay in her home, to sleep beside her in her bed. He couldn’t possibly understand what it was that she saw in him that made her want him, but she had. She did.

“Henry.”

He jumped about a mile at the sound of her groggy voice, her eyes not even open as she turned her head where it was squished against the pillow. Her hand swatted at the air until it made contact with the center of his chest, coming to rest flat against his skin. Upon realizing that he was sitting rather than laying beside her, those hazel eyes finally crazed open to blink slowly at him.

“You have a nightmare?” she asked. Swallowing dryly, he nodded. She began to move to sit up, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I’m alright.”

“You sure?” God, he loved her accent. A beautiful, sing-song Welsh lilt that he could listen to for hours.

“Yeah,” he said, fiddling with his hands a bit. “Just…overthinking,” it was something he probably would never be able to stop doing. Just like how he probably would always have these thoughts of not deserving her. Of burdening her. The key would be learning how to push them down. To ignore them. To remind himself that those were just the cruel thoughts brought on by guilt and self loathing. They weren’t actually true.

She made a sound of understanding, hand tugging him until he laid down beside her.

“C’mere,” her voice was still a bit hoarse with sleep, but her arms were strong as she tugged him close until his head was resting on her chest, arms around her waist while her own wrapped around his shoulders. He snuggled close to her. She was pleasantly warm, and being this close meant that he could smell the scent of her soap, feel the rise and fall of her breaths. Her fingers petted through his hair, massaging at his scalp. “You sure that you don’t want to talk about it?”

He nodded. “I’m sure,” he had always appreciated that about her. She had never pressured him to talk when he didn’t want to, always trusting that eventually, when he was ready, he would let her in.

“Alright,” the fingers stroking through his hair were beginning to slow, as she was pulled back into sleep. Henry let his eyes fall closed. He doubted that he would be able to go back to sleep, but that was okay. He was comfortable here, and Daisy’s touch seemed to soothe the worst of his guilt. At least for a moment. There was contentment in his tired bones as he laid there, wrapped safely in Daisy’s warm arms.

He knew that he would never fully be alright again. Not after what he had experienced. And certainly not after what he had done. But, maybe…just maybe, he could allow himself a few moments of peace and happiness. Maybe someday, he would feel enough at peace to override at least a fraction of the guilt that he carried.

∗ ∗ ∗

Eyes blinking blearily awake, he frowned, realizing slowly that he actually had somehow managed to doze off again. Stretching with a groan, he frowned at the knowledge that the space beside him was cold, bed empty save for him and a couple of pillows.

Raising his head, he ran his fingers through his mussed hair, shoving the blankets aside and stooping to find his boxer shorts that had been tossed to the floor, pulling them on and venturing out into the hallway. Sunshine was already beginning to seep in through the windows.

“Daisy?” he found her curled in on herself in the living room, watching through the window as Ghost chased a squirrel up a tree in the backyard. She didn’t seem to notice him, staring with a steaming cup of tea clutched in her hands. “Sweetheart?”

She started, eyes blinking widely at him as she glanced up at him. “Hey, love. Did you sleep okay?”

“Fine,” he said slowly, head tilting. She was just wearing her pajamas, hair uncombed. Sitting down in the space on the couch beside her, he rubbed his thumb up and down her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she set down her teacup on the saucer on the table. “I was just…thinking.”

“About what?”

“About…” she sighed. “Henry, would you rather that we lived somewhere else?”

He blinked, stunned at the question. “What?”

“I was just wondering if maybe it would be, I don’t know, better for you if we lived somewhere not…here.”

He tilted his head. “You want to move?”

Daisy shrugged. “I don’t know.”

But he could see the smallest trace of reluctance in her eyes. She’d finally built herself something of a foundation in Weymouth, after years spent moving from place to place. She had friends, a job, a home. Henry frowned. The last thing that he wanted was for her to feel that she needed to give all that up and move somewhere else all for him. Especially when it probably wouldn’t do all that much good in him getting better.

And truth be told, he liked it in Weymouth, despite everything. In his time spent there he’d grown attached to the place.

“Daises,” he reached out to take her hands in his. “No, I don’t want to move. And I don’t think that not being in Weymouth would make anything all that much better for me.”

She looked down. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay here if it’s painful for you…”

“It isn’t,” he said quickly. “If anything I think…I think it’s helped. You know, I don’t panic at just the smell of seawater anymore. And I think that at least part of that is because I’ve had time to get used to it.”

“Oh,” she said, fiddling with her fingers. “Okay. If you say so.”

He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her forehead. “I appreciate the thought, though.”

She hummed, still looking down at her hands, and Henry frowned, moving in closer to her.

“Is there something else?”

“I,” she paused, biting her lip, then started again. “I need to tell you something. About when I was teenager. When I was still ice skating professionally.”

His brows pinched together. “Okay.”

“I told how my mum put all this pressure on me to succeed. How…cruel she could be.”

He nodded wordlessly.

“For a long time I thought that I deserved it. Or that she was just trying to make sure that I was the best. That’s what she would always say to me. That she just wanted me to be the best that I could be. As I got older, it started to be things that weren’t just skating. That my grades weren’t good enough, or I wasn’t pretty enough, not skinny enough…” she was ringing her hands together anxiously. Henry scooted closer. “For a while there, when I was still in school, I stopped eating. I got really sick. I was so thin, you probably could have fit both of your hands easily around my entire waist,” her shoulders curled in, practically collapsing in on themselves. “Violet, my little sister, she was the only one who noticed. She pulled me out of it. Probably saved my life,” she looked out the window, eyes gleaming tearfully. “And then there was the whole thing with Mum disowning me, Adam cheating on me…for a long time I really thought that I was unlovable. That I wasn’t good enough.”

“Daisy,” he reached out for her desperately, unable to take hearing any more without comforting her. “My Daisy, you are the best person I’ve ever met,” he kissed her eyelids adoringly, fighting the temptation to pull her into his chest and never let her go. “You deserve so much love, sweetheart,” probably far more than he could ever give her, though he would try. God, would he try to give her all the love in the world.

She gave him a wobbly smile, nodding. “Thank you. Thank you,” she leaned closer to his touch. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he rested his forehead against hers. “Thank you for telling me,” he allowed her to curl in against his chest.

She smiled up at him, cheek resting against his pectoral. “Mr. Dawson and Peter invited us over for dinner on the Moonstone on Saturday night,” she said after a long pause. “Collins will be there too,” she glanced up at him. “I can just go by myself, if you would rather not…”

The thought of facing Peter and Mr. Dawson still had a twinge of fear squeezing at his throat.

“I can come.”

She looked at him with surprise and he shrugged.

“If I’m going to be staying here indefinitely, I’ll have to see them eventually, right? Might as well do it now.”

She touched his cheek adoringly. “I promise that no one will yell at you. If they do, I’ll yell back at them.”

He let out a tiny laugh, turning his head to kiss her fingertips. “Thanks, love.”

“Will you be okay? Being on a boat?”

“Hm,” he considered it. “How far are they going out?”

“Not too far.”

“I think I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he nuzzled at her palm. Surely he could be brave, for one evening. It would probably be good for him, anyway. Like exposure therapy. “Could be fun.”

Her hand curled under his chin, and with a smile she pulled his lips down to hers.

∗ ∗ ∗

The grass crunched beneath his feet, a light dusting of dew coating the little green strands. Henry had his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. It was starting to get colder, the chill in the morning and evening airs enough to even have him bundling up more than usual. He swallowed roughly, eyes darting around as he kept his head turned downwards, weaving through the lines of graves to the one on top of the little hill, facing the ocean. He came to a stop in front of it, staring at the name engraved in the white stone like he was looking down the barrel of a gun.

“Hullo, George,” his voice broke, and he took a moment before he was able to continue. “I-” he hesitated. In his mind, he’d had a whole damn speech prepared, but now, standing in front of the boy’s grave, it all seemed rather superficial and foolish. Looking down at his shoes, he frowned, before forcing himself to look up at the grave again. “I’m so sorry. For what I did. For hurting you. Everyone-everyone keeps saying that it wasn’t my fault, but I don’t–I don’t believe that’s true. I scared you, and then I hurt you, and I’m-I’m,” he forced his tears to remain at bay. “I’m so sorry for all of it. I know that probably doesn’t mean much,” he sniffed. “That’s–that’s all that I came here to say.”

The wind rustled around him, stirring the leaves of a nearby tree. He wondered if maybe he should have brought flowers, or something, to put on the grave. Giving one last look to the grave, he turned away, not feeling anywhere close to any better than he’d felt when he’d stepped into the graveyard.

The heavy wooden door to the library caught for a moment when he pushed it open, slipping inside the peaceful, quiet building. Heading to his preferred table in the corner, he hung his jacket on the back of his chair, sitting down with a hand pressing to his lips in contemplation.

“Hi,” Daisy’s hand rested on his shoulder in greeting.

“Hi,” he looked up at her.

“You okay?”

He thought the question over for a second, turning it over and over in his mind. There was still the dark pit of sorrow in his chest, but it wasn’t as…insistent in its encompassment of his mind. Looking down at his hands, he let his fingers splay outwards, examining them.

They no longer trembled at just the mere thought of George. Or Dunkirk.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I think I am.”

∗ ∗ ∗

The boat rocked back and forth rhythmically beneath her feet. They weren’t so far off out into the open water that she couldn’t see the lights of Weymouth in the distance.

When they’d arrived hand in hand on the dock, Mr. Dawson had greeted them with his usual fatherly warmth, ushering them aboard the boat. Collins had smiled at both of them, and Peter, though perhaps a little awkward towards Henry at first, had been pleasant enough in his conversation. He was still attempting to convince Collins to take him flying some day.

“How are you doing?” she asked, pattering in behind Henry after she finished helping Mr. Dawson clear the table. He was leaning against the edge of the boat, looking out at the dark water.

“I’m okay,” he shot her a small smile. “Are you okay?”

“A little jittery,” she admitted, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around her. “But not bad.”

“Hm,” he rubbed his hand up and down her arm comfortingly, glancing over her head. “Where did the Dawsons and Collins go?”

“Mr. Dawson went downstairs to go get dessert,” she said. There was a thump as Collins climbed the stairs leading below and joined them on the edge of the boat.

“I don’t think that I’ve ever seen a kid so eager to be taken flying before,” he sighed.

“You think that you’ll actually take him?”

“Yeah, probably. Eventually,” he sat down, pillowing his head on his arms. “It’s nice to be out here with no one shooting at us.”

They all snorted. “Yeah, it is,” tucking some hair behind her ear, Daisy finished off the remainder of her tea.

“You want some more?” Collins asked.

“I can get it.”

“No, no, no, you spent all of the last time we were all on this boat running around fetching tea for soldiers,” he snatched the teacup from her hands. “It’s time that we gave back,” he pointed to Henry with a grin. “Wilson agrees with me.”

Daisy laughed, shaking her head as Collins retreated back downstairs, moving so that he was standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her, chin perched on the top of her head.

“Is that true?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, glancing over her shoulder at him. “You agree with Collins?”

“I agree with anything that keeps you close to me like this,” he murmured, nuzzling at her neck. She laughed, squirming when his nose tickled her sensitive skin. Henry just squeezed her tighter, chuckling. “You’re so pretty,” he said, pecking the side of her head. “My beautiful girl.”

“Henry!” she laughed, trying in vain to hide her blush.

“It’s true,” he stroked some of her hair back. “I remember thinking it the first time that I saw you.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Well, underneath all the layers of terror and horrific memories.”

“Mm. Well,” she stroked up and down his arm. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

“I was shaking and wet and crying.”

“And you looked good while doing it.”

Henry snorted, pinching at her hip playfully until she giggled and squirmed. Her hand traced along his left hand.

“I remember being so put out when I thought that you were married,” she commented softly. Henry chuckled at the memory of her asking about the ring he’d been wearing on his left hand during the evacuation. “I was pouting around the boat and everything,” she craned her head around to look at him. “Whatever happened to the ring?”

“I tried to give it back to my mum when I came home, but she insisted I keep it. It’s in a little box with my things.”

“Mm. Why don’t you wear it anymore?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel like I needed to anymore, I suppose. Besides,” he shifted his head to lean more comfortably against hers. “I think that you and I have started up enough rumors around town about us without needing to add in someone getting the impression that I’m married.”

“True,” she giggled, closing her eyes and leaning back against him. The wind caused a chill to spread through her, and Henry pulled her back further into his arms upon feeling it, cocooning her with his warmth. When his breath suddenly caught in his throat, she didn’t think much of it; until he let out a breathless laugh, giving her a tiny shake.

“Daises, are you seeing this?”

“What?” she asked, opening her eyes. He pointed out to the water.

“Look right around there…”

She squinted into the darkness. “Henry, what–holy shit!” she clapped a hand over her mouth a moment too late to stifle the curse, not that she cared, lunging forward to grab excitedly onto the edge of the boat. The fin from the dolphin disappeared under the water again, just for a moment, before breaking out of the waves, a burst of air shooting up from its blowhole. Henry chuckled, kissing her temple as she gawked at the dolphin with contagious joy, until it disappeared below the water and didn’t reemerge.

“I’m beginning to think that you might be my lucky charm for seeing dolphins out on the water,” she said, leaning back to kiss Henry on the cheek.

“Ah, so that’s what you’ve kept me around for. I was wondering–”

She shut him up with her mouth on his, kissing him firmly. When she broke away, he was grinning.

“Alright, who would like dessert?” Mr. Dawson asked, shuffling towards the table with a cake clutched in his hands, Peter and Collins behind him. Collins handed her a fresh cup of tea, and she took Henry’s hand to guide him back over to the table.

And the rest of the evening was filled with laughter, and jokes, and easy comradery. Just as it was meant to be.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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#shivering soldier #dunkirk #henry wilson #shivering soldier x oc #henry wilson x oc #daisy preston #daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston x henry wilson #my ocs #my fanfiction #fanfiction #a remedy for sorrow

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emotionalcadaver · 1 year

Text

Part 3: A Remedy for Sorrow

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Henry helps Daisy with her garden.

Word Count: 3,893

Notes: Warnings for depictions of PTSD and guilt. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

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Chapter 3: Botany

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, trying to tell herself that she was being ridiculous.

It shouldn’t have mattered what dress she wore, or if her makeup was perfect, or how her hair looked. And yet still, she’d spent the last half hour getting ready, debating which shoes went best with the olive green dress she picked out, or which earrings she should wear.

Fluffing her hair one last time, she smoothed her hands down over the fabric. The dress hit just past her knees, clinging to her torso before flaring out at the waist, with long sleeves and little buttons lining the bodice. She wore pearl studs in her ears and simple lipstick. For her shoes, she went for a pair of her brown oxford heels. No need to pick something too terribly difficult to walk in or keep her balance. It was formal, but not too terribly fancy that Henry would think she’d gotten the wrong ideas about his intentions towards her.

Giving herself one final look over, Daisy nodded and headed out of her bedroom and into the living room, where Ghost was laying on the couch with his head on his paws. His tail wagged as she approached him, head raising so that she could give him a few scratches behind the ear.

“You be a good boy while I’m out tonight, yeah?”

His tail just thumped against the material of the couch. There was a soft knock against the door, and Ghost let out a little bark, jumping down from the couch and trotting to the door, tail still wagging. Chuckling, Daisy followed him, smoothing a hand through her hair and grabbing him by the collar so that he wouldn’t run off. Ghost pawed at the door eagerly until she finally opened it. Henry stood there, hair pushed back off of his forehead, a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in one hand, cheeks a little pink as he shifted nervously from foot to foot. But he smiled when he saw her.

“Hi,” he chuckled when Ghost tried to jump up and rest his paws on his thighs, bending to pet the husky’s head. “Hullo, Ghost.”

The dog licked at his hand excitedly. He’d taken an immediate liking to Henry. A relief to her, considering how standoffish her dog could sometimes be with others.

“Come on in. I’ve just got to get him settled,” she said, stepping away and tugging Ghost with her to let Henry inside the little cottage.

“Take your time,” he assured.

“Ghost, c’mon,” she closed the door behind Henry, ushering the dog towards his bed. “C’mon, good boy,” she fed him a treat and patted his head when he finally laid down. Heading back to Henry, she laughed, shaking her head. “Spoiled little bugger.”

He chuckled. “He’s a good boy.”

“Yeah. He is,” she eyed the bouquet still clutched in his hand. “Are those sunflowers?”

Henry looked down at the bouquet, then blushed. “Well, I Figured that everyone else probably brings you daisies.”

“Between you and me, I much prefer sunflowers. Daisies are okay, though. Thank you,” taking the flowers, she pressed them to her nose for a moment, inhaling their sweet smell before she went to the kitchen, filling a vase with water for them while she was gone.

“Mum always told me to bring a woman flowers before you take her dancing,” he commented. “Don’t put them in too much sunlight,” he added.

“Really? For sunflowers?”

“Cut sunflowers can wilt if they get too much sun.”

“Huh. Good to know,” grabbing her bag and shrugging on her coat, she blinked as she caught Henry just staring at her. “What?”

He shook his head, eyes darting to his shoes. “Nothing. You look nice.”

Her cheeks burned at the compliment, looking down bashfully. “Thank you.”

He let her loop her arm with his after they’d departed her cottage and began to walk down the street. The band was playing something fast and bouncy. They headed to the bar first, Daisy eyeing the dance floor with silent apprehension as she sipped on her drink. Henry’s hand curled, large and warm, against her back.

“I really do promise that I’m not going to make fun of you,” he said, voice low and gentle in her ear. They had to stand close, to be able to hear each other over the music, and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear as he bent down to speak. It made her shiver.

“You better not,” she said with playful fondness. The song came to an end, and the band launched into something slow, teetering on the line of romantic. Swallowing down the remainder of her drink, she smiled shakily as Henry took her hand, leading the way to the dancefloor. They stood facing each other, the hand not already holding hers resting over her waist. She let her free hand curl around his shoulder. He squeezed her fingers, pulling her close.

“I’ve got you.”

She fought back the tremble that his words triggered, hoping that if he noticed he would think that it was just nerves, and not a reaction to how warm his chest was, or how good he smelled. He led her gently, just swaying them back and forth. The other couples around them paid them no mind, and she started to relax.

“Shit, sorry,” she whispered, as the toe of her right shoe knocked against his foot. But he just looked at her fondly, softly, and she practically melted into a puddle there in the middle of the dancefloor. He was beautiful, with his big blue eyes and slightly overgrown fringe. It was a great feat of willpower that she managed to keep herself from staring at his lips. Henry was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t fully place. Something heated and adoring. It made her flush from the top of her head down to her toes.

Another couple jostled into them a bit, mumbling apologies as they swayed away from them, and Henry pulled her even closer, more firmly encased in the circle of his arms. Biting her lower lip, she let her head rest against his chest, squeezing his hand. His heart was beating rapidly, and he felt solid and safe. When she again accidentally stepped on his toes, he just grinned at her stammered apologies, pressing a kiss to her temple to soothe her.

“I’m glad that you came and found me,” she whispered. In his chest, his breathing stuttered, thumb stroking delicately over her hip bone, the warmth from his skin burning even through the material of her dress.

“Me too.”

The band played a few more slow songs to which they rhythmically swayed, before the tempo began to increase, encouraging the crowd to swing and bop faster across the dancefloor. Daisy laughed as Henry dipped and spun her, around and around and around. Until she got dizzy and then he caught her against him.

It was incredibly, inappropriately, late by the time they finally left the venue and started the walk back home.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Henry teased lightly. Daisy snorted.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. You were right,” she said with mock begrudging, glancing over at him with rosy cheeks and a joyful smile. “I hope that I didn’t bruise your toes too badly.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse,” he chuckled at the indignant sound she made.

“I had a really fun time tonight,” she told him sincerely as they got to her door, pulling her keys from her bag.

His fingers skimmed her cheek as he reached out, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Me too.”

“Would you…like to come in?” she asked. Henry immediately drew back, the guarded skittishness that had been absent from his eyes for most of the evening suddenly returning.

“No, no. I think that I’ll just head back to the inn.”

“Okay,” it had been a bit of a long shot, anyway. Was probably for the best, even if it slightly stung. She wasn’t going to pressure him.

“Are you…busy tomorrow?” he asked, tentative.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I could come look at your garden tomorrow, if you still want me to?”

“That would be great,” she instantly perked up, the idea of finally filling some of the sad, empty pots that she had sitting in her backyard enough to fill her with excitement.

“Okay. I’ll come by, say about ten?”

“Sounds good.”

“Bye, Daisy.”

“Bye, Henry.”

She watched him walk back down her path, swallowing the last fragments of desire and wounded pride at his subtle rejection.

That night, she dreamed of Henry. And dancing in a field of sunflowers.

∗ ∗ ∗

She was trying very hard not to stare.

Henry had rolled up to her house that morning with a wheelbarrow full of dirt, dozens of packages of seeds, flowers, and gardening tools that he all bought from the market. Gulping, she glanced out the window at him from the kitchen. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing tanned, strong forearms. His biceps twitched and flexed as he hefted the wheelbarrow around, shirt half unbuttoned so that she could see the light smattering of dark hair across his chest, skin glistening with sweat. Add in a few streaks of dirt across his face, his hair messy and windblown, and he looked so damn good it was distracting.

Grabbing the cool pitcher of lemonade she’d made, she poured two tall glasses before wandering back outside. Henry wiped at the sweat on his brow, smiling up at her when he spotted her approaching him.

“Thanks,” he took the glass, gulping the lemonade down thankfully. Daisy watched the way his throat worked, and quickly looked away, taking a sip from her own glass.

Maybe it would help her to cool off.

Sitting down on the little bench she had just outside the backdoor, she smiled as Ghost bounded up to Henry with his ball, earning himself a few scratches behind the ear before he tossed the ball across the yard for him to chase.

“It looks like it’s coming along well.”

Henry glanced around. “Yes, it is.”

“Anything that I can do to help, or would you prefer that I just stay out of your hair?”

“If you could set out which pots you want the flowers to go into, that would be nice.”

“Okay,” standing, she brushed a few pieces of imaginary lint off of her clothes, setting her lemonade down and going to the stack of sad, empty pots lined against the back of the house. Discarding the few of them that were chipped or otherwise damaged from time and the weather, she began to line out the remainder for Henry. Most of them were quite large and heavy, adorned with careful detailing and textures. And all of them were decorated with bright splashes of color: greens and purples, oranges and blues, yellows and reds. Even without any flowers in them, they brightened up the backyard considerably, providing the otherwise green, gray, and brown space with nice little pops of color.

“Okay,” Henry heaved himself up from where he was still kneeling beside her little vegetable garden he’d been working on. Brushing off his pants and planting his hands on his hips, he surveyed the backyard, worrying at his bottom lip. “We should move the pots to where you want them in the yard first. Once they’re filled with soil they’ll be harder to move around.”

“Alright,” she helped him begin to heave them to different, coordinated spots scattered throughout her backyard.

“Put that one a little more to the left, so it’s more in the sun,” he called at her.

“Like that?” she asked, shifting the pot.

“Yeah.”

She was panting slightly by the time they’d finished putting all of the pots into position, chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath, wiping some sweat from her brow. “Are you hungry?” she asked Henry, hopeful that he would say yes and they could take a bit of a break. “I have sandwiches.”

“Sure.”

It was nice enough outside that they were able to sit at the table on her patio, sun smiling down on them as they ate. Ghost kept bounding back to Henry with his ball, tail wagging as it was dropped at his feet, shooting off after it at the speed of sound every time he threw it.

“He likes you,” Daisy commented.

“I’m glad,” he scratched Ghost under the chin. “He’s a good boy.”

Ghost’s tail wagged happily at the praise.

“How’s the inn been treating you?” she asked. He shrugged.

“It’s alright. Neighbors are a little noisy, I suppose.”

“I hope that they haven’t been disrupting your sleep.”

“Nah. I…” he heaved out a huge breath. “I don’t sleep much, anyway.”

“Nightmares?”

He seemed surprised that she knew. “Yeah.”

“What do you dream about?” the question left her lips before she really gave it much thought, and she cringed, looking down. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s okay. Um, drowning…mostly. Our ship sinking.”

“The one that was attacked by the U-boat?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Other times it’s of the oil, or the bombings,” he hesitated. “Or George.”

Reaching across the table, she folded her fingers over his.

“Daisy,” he said, voice suddenly very, very grave. “What do…what do the people here know, about what happened?”

“We didn’t…” she tucked some hair behind her ear, sighing. “Peter had it put in the paper, that George was a war hero who died helping during the evacuation. We told his family that there was an accident on the boat and he hit his head. That’s all.”

“You didn’t tell them it was me?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Why?”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. Or done any real good. His friends and family got the closure that they needed. I think…I think that’s enough,” she shrugged. “At least the best that we can offer them.”

“You could’ve…could’ve…”

“What?” she tilted her head. “What good would it really have done anyone to tell them that an English soldier was involved in George’s injury? They don’t know you. Nothing productive would come from them hating and blaming a faceless figure in a soldier's uniform. It was better for them, to have me and Mr. Dawson to direct their anger at. Least that way they were able to express it, you know? Get it out and in the open. And now it’s done, and they can…try to move on.”

Henry was shaking his head furiously. “Neither of you should have to take the blame for what I did.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t entirely your fault, anyway.”

“Daisy…”

“I know that you don’t believe me, but I’m going to keep saying it anyway.”

He glanced down, shoulders curled in. “Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Of course,” she mumbled, taking another bite from her sandwich.

“I keep thinking that maybe…maybe I should go and speak with…with his parents. Admit…what I did…”

“Henry…” she chewed on her lower lip, trying to think of the best way to word what she wanted to say. “Time has passed. They’ve started to heal. Talking to them now…I really don’t think that it would do much good save for reopening new wounds. Besides,” she took a small bite of what remained of her sandwich. “The Mills have moved away, since it all happened. Not too far, just a few towns over, I think. His mum still shows up sometimes at the cemetery…but there’s not really much chance that you’ll be bumping into them here, or anything like that.”

“Yeah…” he picked at his own food. “Yeah…you’re probably right,” he still didn’t look fully convinced, but it was progress, at the very least. She patted his hand, lips pulling upwards when Ghost, seemingly sensing Henry’s distress, ran up to him, whining and headbutting his legs. He stroked the husky’s large head gently as the dog rested it in his lap, tail swishing back and forth. She leaned in to pet along Ghost’s back.

“Good boy.”

They polished off the remainder of their sandwiches in relative silence, both of them turning their attention instead to the dog.

“Back to work?” she asked, eyeing the pots that still needed to be filled. Henry shot her a look, like he knew that she was attempting to use his blatant love of plants to distract his tortured mind.

“Sure.”

∗ ∗ ∗

She tried to listen to his instructions; but it was hard to focus when he was bending over her, warm hands helping to guide hers, the muscles in his chest flexing behind her. A part of her–the less rational part–was wondering what he would do if she turned around, stretched up on her toes, and kissed him, pushing him down onto his back on the soft grass. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to focus, concentrating hard on his voice, rumbling deeply in her ear…

Goddammit.

“Daises? Are you listening?” he sounded rather amused.

“Uh huh. Put the soil into the pot.”

“And then?”

“...Put the flowers into the pot?”

He chuckled. “Missed a few steps there, love.”

“Damn.”

“Remember, you want to clean up the plants before you put them in the pots. Get rid of any dead or broken leaves. And once you’ve removed the plant from the container from the store, make sure to inspect the roots. Healthy roots are white. Unhealthy ones will appear black or brown, and the soil might smell. Also loosen the roots, if you need to. Like this,” he demonstrated with careful, gentle movements. Daisy chewed on her bottom lip. His hands were big, fingers thick, but he utilized them carefully, delicately. Had he wanted to, he could have probably crushed the plant in his fist, but he didn’t. He handled it with the utmost precision and care. So gentle it was almost heartbreaking.

She wanted to know what else he could do with those hands of his.

Good god, she needed to get a hold of herself.

“And then you tuck the plant into the soil,” he placed the plant into the divot of dirt they’d made, and then took her hands in his. “Like this,” her breath caught as he guided her fingers to gently push the soil to cover the plant’s roots. “You want it firm enough to keep the plant upright, but not packed too tightly. And then we just give it some water,” he scooped up her bright yellow watering can, pouring a helping of water into the pot. He took a step back.

“Wow,” she murmured, rubbing at one of the delicate, little green leaves.

“On to the next one?”

“Yeah,” she scooped up the watering can and followed him. “Thank you again, for this.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “It’s no problem.”

They moved rhythmically from pot to pot, filling them with the assorted flowers that Henry had bought. As they went, he told her which ones would grow well together, their different sunlight requirements, and which to keep separated from each other at all costs.

Suddenly, there was a roar from overhead, and a plane was hurtling across the sky above them. Daisy barely got out a small squeak when Henry caught her tight around the waist, yanking her roughly down onto the grass with him, rolling so that he was curled on top of her.

For a long, drawn out moment, they just laid there gasping, staring at each other with wide eyes. Above them, the plane drifted away, heading out towards the water before disappearing into the distance.

“Shit. Sorry,” Henry said. Daisy continued to blink at him owlishly. She could feel his chest, pressed firmly against hers, still heaving with his breaths, his heart pounding away.

“It’s okay. It startled me too.”

Still, neither of them moved. The grass was soft against her back, Henry’s weight remaining firmly on top of her. His face was close enough that his fringe was tickling her skin, and if she raised her head only a little bit and tilted it, they would have been kissing. Those blue eyes were darting over her face, brows pinched like he was thinking very hard about something. And with every passing moment, the warmth of him above her was causing her to flush, temptation growing to wrap her arms and her legs around him–

She shrieked as Ghost suddenly careened into them, probably thinking that they had gotten down onto the grass to play.

“No, no! Down, boy! No!” she yelped as the dog attempted to lap at her face with his lolling tongue. “Ugh.”

Henry laughed, rolling regrettably off of her to sit on the grass, opening his arms to the dog, who promptly began to wrestle with him. Shifting so that she was laying on her side, Daisy propped her head up with one arm, watching them fondly. When Ghost finally plopped down on the grass, panting with his tongue hanging from his mouth, she raised an eyebrow.

“Wow. I think that you actually managed to tire him out.”

Chuckling, Henry reached over to brush lightly at her hair. “Grass,” he explained at her questioning raise of an eyebrow. He groaned as he rose back up to his feet, and she had to look away as he stretched, shirt riding up so that she could just see a sliver of the skin of his stomach. When he held out a hand to her, she blushed, taking it and letting him pull her near effortlessly to her feet. And when she bumped against his chest, it took a long, drawn out moment before either of them pulled away.

∗ ∗ ∗

It was getting dark by the time they were finished, sitting at the bench on her patio and observing their handiwork.

“Good work, team,” Henry said, clinking his bottle of beer with hers. Daisy giggled, side warm where it was pressed against his.

“Alright, I got my garden, that’s all I wanted, friendship over.”

“Wow,” he said, leaning back with a grin that teetered on being boyish. “The truth comes out now, doesn’t it?”

Laughing, she dropped her head onto his shoulder, pressing her lips together. “Seriously, thank you. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Henry glanced down, cheeks red. “It’s no problem. Really.”

“You think that you’ll be staying for a little while longer?” she had been reluctant to bring up the topic of when he would be leaving. Every time she thought of it, her throat felt as though it were going to close up.

“I think so, yeah,” he took a sip from his beer and grinned. “I at least have to stay long enough to make sure that you don’t kill all of the flowers.”

“Hey!”

He laughed, open and bright, as she batted lightly at his shoulder. Smiling, she laid her cheek back onto his shoulder comfortably, leaning more fully against him. Ghost had curled up at their feet, and she wondered for a moment at how right it all felt; just existing with each other in the peaceful quiet of the approaching evening. It took a moment, but then Henry’s cheek came to rest against her head. And there they remained, leaned cozily up against each other, watching the sunset.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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#shivering soldier #dunkirk #shivering soldier x oc #henry wilson x oc #daisy preston #daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston x henry wilson #my ocs #my fanfiction #fanfiction #a remedy for sorrow

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emotionalcadaver · 5 months

Text

Part 1: In the Heart of War

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: There is only one survivor from the wreckage of a boat they come across. And he is very handsome.

Word Count: 3,277

Notes: Warnings for depictions of war, brief suicide contemplation, and PTSD. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

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Chapter 2: Shivering

Perched next to Mr. Dawson on the deck of the Moonstone, Daisy peered through a pair of binoculars. Scanning the horizon, she pursed her lips at the emptiness awaiting them. There was no sign of men in the water, or the wreckage of any ships.

“See anything?” he asked. She shook her head, letting them drop into her lap.

“No.”

“We’re still a long way out. There may be more to see as we get closer,” he said. Daisy nodded, tugging the fabric of her sweater tighter around her. The salty scent of the sea was pleasant, even if she could do without the chill of the wind.

“Mr. Dawson!” George called out, eyes fixed on a plane gliding low over the water.

“One of ours, George!” the old man assured. The engine was loud as a clap of thunder as it soared over them. Daisy raised an eyebrow.

“Your son flew, right?” she asked, a tad cautiously. Working down at the docks, she’d heard stories about how old Mr. Dawson’s older son had died during the early parts of the war.

“Yes.”

“Is that how you know so much about planes?”

The old man chuckled. “More or less. That kid never shut up about them. Knew every possible thing about them.”

Daisy smiled at the wistfulness in his eyes. “It’s nice that you cared enough to listen.”

“I take it your parents never did the same for you?”

A bitter laugh left her lips. “Oh, mum cared, alright. Just…not in the way I hoped she would.”

To her relief he didn’t push the issue, just humming understandably, squinting to look out over the water. She pressed the binoculars back to her eyes. “Do you think we’ll see any dolphins?”

“Eh. It’s always possible. But all the explosions might have scared them away from the channel for the moment.”

She hoped that her disappointment wasn’t too obvious.

Arms crossing over her lap, she hunkered down against the wind, periodically scanning the horizon.

“There’s a ship heading towards us,” handing the binoculars off to Mr. Dawson, she shielded her eyes from the sun, squinting at the little blot in the distance. He looked into the binoculars momentarily then handed them back to her.

“One of ours,” he glanced at her as she wrapped her arms around herself, shoving her fingertips under her armpits to help warm them. “It’s probably warmer down below.”

“I’m fine.”

“George!” Mr. Dawson called out. “I think it’s time you put that first pot of tea on, lad!”

“Seriously, Mr. Dawson, I’m fine–”

“Relax. George brought enough tea for a literal army.”

George soon bounded from below, holding out a steaming cup to her. “Here’s your tea, Miss. Preston.”

“Just ‘Daisy’ is fine, kiddo. Thanks,” taking it with a thankful smile, she watched the boy rush back to Peter’s side. He reminded her a little of a puppy. Eager to please and wide-eyed, but not quite sure of his footing yet. Eyes fixed on the ship slowly growing closer and closer to them, she took a small sip of the tea to avoid burning her tongue. Free hand playing with the strap of binoculars, she leaned back on her elbows, head tilting up towards the sky. At least it was a decent day. Sailing around in the rain wasn’t exactly what she would consider to be a good time.

Boat bobbing along, she resumed scanning the waves.

“There’s some smoke in the distance. But I can’t tell what it is.”

“Probably a sinking ship. The fighters have been targeting the ones sent to evacuate men from the beach.”

“Do we need to worry about that?” she asked. Mr. Dawson shrugged.

“Probably not. They’ve got much bigger fish to fry than a little pleasure yacht.”

Humming, she took another sip of tea. Finished with his work for the moment, George meandered over to sit down beside her. Handing the binoculars to him so he could have a look, she tapped the heel of her shoe against the deck, trying not to appear too bored. Even though this whole adventure into literal war was turning out to be far less interesting than she had expected it to be.

Standing, she ventured below deck, eyeing the stacks of bright orange life jackets and wool blankets. Rubbing the material between her fingers, she pursed her lips, wondering if they really were going to be able to fit that many men onto the little boat. Refilling her tea, she returned to above deck just as they were passing the ship she’d spotted. Head tilting upwards, she could see that the deck was near overflowing with soldiers. They stood crowded around the railings, wrapped in blankets and looking at them with dead, despondent eyes. No one made a sound, not even raising a hand to wave, as they sailed past one another. A chill ran down her spine, glancing out towards the open space of water where they were headed. Towards where a plume of black smoke was reaching for the sky, mind trying to comprehend what was out there that had put that look in those soldier’s eyes.

∗ ∗ ∗

The metal beneath him sang. A soft hum. Whether it came from the wind or the water, he couldn’t be sure. The sound was eerie and set his teeth on edge, but he would take it over the silence. Even though it wasn’t enough to drown out the memory of screams in his head.

The metal was hard and cold, but still better than the alternative of clinging to one of the bloated bodies of his companions floating in the water. He’d had to push one aside, when swimming towards the wreckage of the ship that was supposed to ferry them to freedom. The feeling of dead flesh beneath his fingers was enough to make him gag.

A piece of canvas clutched in his hands, he lifted it over his head, to protect from the icy gusts of wind. Still his teeth chattered in his skull, body trembling uncontrollably. He wasn’t sure if it was from the shock or the cold. Tears dried on his cheeks, body too exhausted to even bother with sobs anymore. Every once in a while, an explosion would thunder in the distance, or the engine of a plane would roar from the clouds, his body drawing in on itself in response. Breathing panicked and frantic.

What was he even doing? Sitting here, on the remains of a ship slowly lowering deeper and deeper into the sea with every passing moment. The ocean stretched out in every direction forever. Waves crashed around him, lapping against the ship, beckoning him. Quietly promising an icy embrace. All he’d need to do was lie facedown and float. The water would do the rest.

The idea was growing more and more tempting. After all, no one was coming to help him. He was all alone out here, with nothing but a few measly hours at most of borrowed time. One way or another, the ocean would claim him. Be that now or when the wreckage he clung to was finally dragged below.

Hands shaking, he wiped at his sniffling nose, and focused his eyes on the horizon.

∗ ∗ ∗

“There’s a wreckage,” she said, poking her head below deck to where Mr. Dawson and the boys were rummaging about, making more tea. “There’s the wreckage of a ship. Straight ahead.”

Mr. Dawson followed her back outside. She pressed her binoculars to her eyes, squinting at the remains of the vessel, barely sticking up out of the water. And the little figure perched on top of it.

“See any survivors?” he asked, already beginning to adjust the boat’s course.

“Just one.”

“Alright. We’ll pick him up.”

They neared the wreckage cautiously so as to avoid accidentally damaging the Moonstone. Peter came rushing onto deck to see what was going on, heading below for a moment and returning with a rope and George in tow. The figure seated on top of the wreckage didn’t seem to even acknowledge them, huddling with a blanket of some kind covering most of his face, likely as protection from the wind.

“Hey! Hey! Can you swim it?” Peter called. The soldier didn’t respond. Didn’t even make any movement or indication that he had heard them at all. Daisy wasn’t sure if he was aware that they were there. “Dad, can you get closer?”

“Can’t risk it!”

George mumbled something to Peter, who fumbled with the rope he’d brought. “Hang on,” he tossed the rope into the water. There was a long beat where no one moved, and then, slowly, the soldier rose to stand unsteadily, clamoring to the edge of the wreckage. Peter drew the rope in and tossed it again, as close to the soldier as he could get it. The soldier flung aside his blanket, and dove cleanly headfirst into the water, clutching tightly to the rope. Daisy handed the binoculars to Mr. Dawson, rushing forward to help the two boys haul the man out of the waves and onto the deck. Water dripped copiously from his soaked clothes, his hand clinging to Peter so tightly he almost dragged the boy down with him, sitting heavily in the corner of the deck. His shoulders scrunched in on themselves, and when Daisy took a cautious step forward, to examine him for any injuries, she could see that he was shivering violently.

“Get him a blanket, George,” she said softly. The boy nodded, ducking away and returning a moment later with one of the thick, dark blue wool blankets they had stashed down below. He tucked it carefully around the soldier’s shoulders. The man grabbed onto the blanket, wrapping himself in it so tightly it was like he was hoping to disappear. He wouldn’t look up at them. Mr. Dawson bent down, examining the soldier with worried eyes.

“What’s your name?”

There came no response. The soldier’s eyes were unfocused, staring at a space on the deck. A breeze ruffled the dark, dripping fringe obscuring most of his face, and Daisy caught a glimpse of a sharp jawline and a shock of blue eyes. There was a small cut on his nose, but it didn’t look so serious that she felt the need to treat it immediately. Mr. Dawson pulled away from the soldier, steering the boat quickly away from the wreckage. Peter was eying him nervously. Daisy couldn’t blame him. It was unnerving even for her, to see a man so traumatized he couldn’t even speak.

“Okay, boys, give him some space, yeah?” she said, shooing George and Peter away. What the man needed at the moment was to feel that he was safe. That was hard to do with a group of people gawking at you. “Let’s go finish making that tea,” she mumbled, suddenly very mindful not to speak too loud, for fear of disturbing or frightening the man further. With careful hands, she guided the boys below deck, and away from the shivering soldier.

∗ ∗ ∗

It had been almost an hour, and the soldier had barely moved. Instead he remained curled in on himself, burrowed so deeply in his blanket she could barely see his face. They’d all tried to keep their distance from him, to give him some space to recover from whatever had so frightened him. But Daisy was beginning to think that avoiding him wasn’t the best approach. After all, so much time had passed since they’d hauled him aboard, and he had yet to say a single word. And he was still trembling.

“Do you want to come below? It’s much warmer,” George offered to the soldier, approaching with a mug of tea held out. But he moved in on the soldier too quickly, too loudly and suddenly. Before Daisy could open her mouth to warn him to back off a bit, he was hovering in close to him. “It’s out of the wind. Here you go,” he thrust the mug towards him, and the soldier flailed in panic at the sudden movement, knocking the tea from George’s hand. The boy jerked back with a surprised gasp. In response the soldier clutched his blanket more tightly around him, blinking. Still staring at nothing.

“Leave him be, George,” Mr. Dawson said. Daisy clutched the railing to help keep her balance as she approached them, patting George gently on the shoulder as she passed. “He feels safer on deck. You would too if you’d been bombed.”

“U-boat,” they all jerked, heads snapping around at the first words to pass the soldier’s lips. “It was a U-boat,” he pulled the blanket all the way up to his chin, as if the mere idea of one was too horrible to imagine.

“Get him some more tea, George,” Peter jumped down with a bundle of rope clutched in one hand. George bustled about, collecting the spilled mug and heading back below deck. Daisy kept her eyes glued to the soldier, his head turning to look out anxiously at the ocean around them.

With everyone else busy she was starting to feel a little useless. Still eying the soldier curiously, she began to approach cautiously, sitting down slowly across from him. His eyes darted up to stare at her, widening slightly, as if he had just noticed her presence on the boat for the first time.

“I’m Daisy,” she said, with a small smile. Eyes darting around, he lowered the blanket ever so slightly.

“Henry,” he croaked out finally.

“Henry,” she repeated, eyes that were bluer than the ocean blinking back at her. “Would it be okay if I took a look at those cuts on your face?”

His hand flew to the small gashes on his nose and left cheek. Expression unreadable for a moment, he examined her. Probably assessing the level of threat that she posed. Then he nodded. Smiling, she went to retrieve the first aid kit tucked away in one of the drawers, returning to sit beside Henry, pouring some disinfectant onto a rag.

“This might sting,” she warned, cupping his chin lightly and dabbing at the cuts. He flinched slightly, but didn’t make any other indication of complaint. His skin was clammy under her touch. Biting her lip, she did her best to ignore the sculpted sharpness of his features. The fullness of his lips. “Well, you won’t need stitches,” she noted. “I doubt that they’ll even scar.”

Henry just nodded. “You’ll get to keep that pretty face intact,” she was tempted to say, but figured that it wasn’t exactly the most appropriate time to flirt. No matter how pretty he looked with his big blue eyes and dark hair falling over his forehead.

“I’ll go check on your tea,” she said, patting his knee and standing.

“Thank you,” Henry mumbled. Glancing over her shoulder, she found that he wasn’t looking at her, gaze instead fixed upon a spot on the deck again. A sad smile twitched at her lips. This poor, poor man.

“Of course.”

“I’m Daisy,” she said, with a small smile. Eyes darting around, he lowered the blanket ever so slightly.

“Henry,” he croaked out finally.

“Henry,” she repeated, eyes that were bluer than the ocean blinking back at her. “Would it be okay if I took a look at those cuts on your face?”

“I’ll go check on your tea,” she said, patting his knee and standing.

“Of course.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Henry seemed to be doing a little better. He’d taken some tea from George, and every once in a while Mr. Dawson was able to pull an answer to a question from him. His shivering had abated enough that he was able to stand, walking around cautiously on the deck, hair and clothing mostly dry. Daisy watched as he scratched at his neck with his left hand, the golden ring encircling his finger glinting in the sun.

It was too bad. He really was very handsome.

But, well. She was used to it. Most of the men her age were already married off. It wasn’t anything to sulk about. It wasn’t like she’d already been captivated by his light blue eyes, or noticed the lean muscles in his chest and shoulders beneath his uniform.

Okay, fine. She was sulking a little.

George gently nudged a fresh cup of tea into her hands, earning himself a grateful smile, before he shuffled forward to offer to refill Henry’s cup for him. The soldier was glancing around anxiously, looking more than a little lost as he ambled around the small deck before sitting back down in his spot in the corner.

“Don’t worry,” she took a small sip of her tea. “We’ll get you home and to your wife in no time at all.”

Henry’s head snapped around to her. “Beg pardon?”

She tilted her head. “What?” her brows furrowed, confused as to what she’d said wrong.

“I don’t have a wife.”

Her eyebrows rose, standing to walk over and sit next to him. “No?” setting her cup down on the deck, she took his left hand in hers, raising it so that the gold metal gleamed, smile teasing. “What’s this, then?”

He looked at the ring on his finger as though he’d just remember it was there. Then laughed awkwardly, shaking his head.

“It’s uh…my dad’s.”

“Alright, now I’m very confused.”

“He died a couple years ago. When I was shipped off, my mum made me take it with me. For good luck, I guess,” he let out a humorless sigh. “I used to keep it on a chain around my neck, but I was always worried about the chain breaking, and losing it…and that’s the only finger it fits on. So…” he shrugged.

Daisy leaned back, narrowing her eyes at him playfully. “Henry, are you having a laugh?” she asked suspiciously. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been made to feel like a fool after a man spun a story to her about not having a wife only for her to find out later that he very much did.

“No!” he pulled the ring off his finger. “Here. See the engravement inside it?” holding it up so she could see, the names Dorothy & Frank were scrawled in swirling letters, complete with a date. “My name’s not Frank,” he said, tapping the identity tags around his neck.

“Alright, alright. I believe you,” she smiled. Henry slipped the ring back onto his finger. Resting his cheek on his palm, he eyed her carefully. “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“You have someone back home worrying about you?”

“Oh. No,” she let out an awkward laugh.

“I find that hard to believe. A pretty woman like you…” he broke eye contact, blushing furiously. A smile pulled on her lips. Goddamn, he was cute.

“I spent most of my twenties and thirties traveling. It’s hard to find someone to settle down with when you’re constantly moving from one town to another.”

“Where did you travel to?”

“Spent a few years in Ireland and then Scotland. A couple more in northern England. I only just recently worked my way down to the south. I only moved to Weymouth a little while ago.”

“You’re from Wales, aren’t you?”

“What gave me away?” she laughed, in her very obvious Welsh accent. “I’m from the Newport area.”

“I went there on holiday with my parents once. It’s nice.”

“Where are you from?”

“Oh it’s um…it’s a tiny little rural village. Between London and Dover. You’d be hard pressed to find it on a map,” he said with an awkward chuckle.

“Small towns were always my favorite. They always feel so intimate and cozy.”

There was a sudden boom in the distance, and Henry jumped, scrambling at the material of the blanket still wrapped around him, eyes filling with terror. Daisy reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, rubbing circles into the tense muscles there.

“Look at me,” those big frightened eyes darted to hers. “It’s going to be okay.”

Very, very slowly, he nodded.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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emotionalcadaver · 5 months

Text

Part 1: In the Heart of War

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Henry’s nightmare has only just begun, and Daisy makes an impulsive decision that will forever change her entire life.

Word Count: 2,823

Notes: Warnings for depictions of war and references to past child abuse. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson.

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

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Chapter 1: Into War

It was dark all around him, the boat rocking precariously from side to side beneath his feet. Despite the pitch black water and sky, he could hear the screams. The desperate splashing as men flailed helplessly in the water. Most of the soldiers seated around him on the little boat were hunched over, arms wrapped around themselves as they shivered. To his right, one of the men flinched at a rather high pitched scream echoing across the ocean. Henry settled a comforting hand on his fellow soldier’s shoulder, squeezing gently in what he hoped was some form of comfort.

On the other end of the boat, the men were plucking one last young man from the water. The boat tipped dangerously at the increase in weight. Bracing himself against the edge, Henry leaned his own weight backwards, trying to counteract the boat’s inversion before it overturned completely. The soaked man finally slumped down, into a seat, and the boat righted itself. Straightening, Henry stood at his spot at the front of the boat, squinting into the darkness in the direction of the shore. Nearby splashing, plus the sudden shouting of men from the other end of the boat, drew his attention. The man they had just pulled up was holding out a hand to a soldier in the water, but just as the boys’ hands met, one of the other soldiers in the boat lunged forward, attempting to shove the man in the water away. A second soldier scrambled at the edge of the boat, only to also be pushed back, the men already occupying the boat screaming that it was already too crowded.

“You can’t leave us!” one of them shouted. “Make some room!”

“Men, leave off, you’ll capsize the boat,” Henry warned, pulling his hat off of his head as he leaned forward, trying to make out the two soldiers in the water. “She’s gone over twice on the way out here. You have to stay calm, there are plenty of boats,” he tried to soothe, aware that his words probably offered very little comfort to either of them. It was hard to make out their faces, but he could tell just by their voices that they were young.

“Calm!? Wait ‘til you get torpedoed, then tell us to be calm!” the man’s final few words came out as an almost inaudible sputter as he was shoved off the edge that he had been clinging to and back into the water.

“You have life jackets?” he couldn’t tell in the dark.

“Yes, they do,” one of the soldiers in the boat confirmed. Henry nodded.

“Don’t panic, boys, the water’s not too rough, or too cold,” as long as they had life jackets, they would be fine. He wasn’t concerned that they would get pulled too far out to sea, or freeze to death. That was some small mercy, at least. “We’re heading back to the beach.”

“Let’s go to Dover!” one of the men called, a chorus of affirmations following his suggestion from the others. Henry all but ignored them, eyes focused on the two young men in the water below him.

“We can’t make it across the channel in this, lads. We need to get back to the beach, and wait for another ride. You men in the water float here, save your strength. We’ll come back for you,” he promised. “Oars in!” his command rang out, the men on the boat manning the oars immediately jumping to attention, the planks of wood dipping into the water, so black it could have been oil. “Together, pull!” the oars cut through the water, propelling them along and slowly but surely, back to the beach.

He chanced a glance back at the expanse of water behind them; at the dozens of little heads bobbing in the water as soldiers tread water and swallowed roughly. An eyebrow shot up at the sight of the two young men he’d turned away, clinging to a piece of rope that their friend who had made it into the boat had cast out to them. He pressed his lips together to keep from snorting in near amusement. Persistent, cheeky little lads. Oh, what the hell. Towing them wouldn’t hurt anyone, and if they wanted to be dragged along through the water behind them that was their decision.

It was still plenty dark out when they made it back to the beach. Henry stretched his back out as he stepped out of the boat and onto the damp sand. Some of the soldiers wandered away, out across the beach. It was so dark they might as well have been swallowed up by the darkness. A few just sat down on the sand to gaze out at the waves crashing along the shore. Most began to make the trek back to the mole, to wait in line for the next ship. Hopefully this one wouldn’t get torpedoed.

He spent the rest of the night taking the little boat back and forth from the sight of the latest sinking ship to the beach, plucking exhausted, traumatized soldiers from the water. Their despondency was understandable. They’d thought themselves free; finally on their way back home where the bombs and bullets could not so easily reach them, only to be sent right back to where they had started.

By the time that he finally took his place in line at the mole, the sun was just barely beginning to peek out from over the horizon. Thumbs drumming as he settled in for the long wait for a ship, he gazed out over the ocean, taking the briefest of moments to appreciate the splash of orange and yellow that the sunrise cast into the sky. After a night spent desperately squinting into the dark, the light of the sun was more than welcome.

And then there was the roar of the engines of German planes, hurtling down towards them from overhead, and they all scattered in panicked cries, diving down into the sand, eyes closed, hands cupped over ears, as they hoped for absolution.

∗ ∗ ∗

Daisy liked the way that the docks smelled. Wet wood, seaweed, and salt. She didn’t even mind the strong scent of fish that sometimes permeated the area when the fishing boats were in.

Pushing her hair back, she straightened, stretching her shoulders and rolling her neck from side to side. She would need to begin considering heading home soon. The sun was starting its descent across the sky and she didn’t want to be stuck riding her bike home in the dark.

The quiet hum of a yacht’s motor caught her attention, and she shaded her eyes against the sun to watch as the Moonstone pulled into the docks. The bright blonde head of hair belonging to Mr. Dawson’s son, Peter bobbed about the desk, readying ropes and joking with their ship hand, George. As soon as the boat was docked and the engine killed, the older man who captained the ship appeared on the deck. Daisy waved at them in greeting as she approached the boat.

“Need any help?” she asked, stopping to watch as the boys bustled about.

“No, no. Let the boys do it,” Mr. Dawson said. “They need the practice.”

“Thought that you’d want to know, we got word from the navy today,” she said, jumping up to sit atop a large crate, feet swinging. “They’ll be coming down in a day or two, to pick boats for requisition.”

“To go to Dunkirk?”

“Yeah.”

“About time,” Mr. Dawson said, looking suddenly very deep in thought. “You work at the library, right?”

“Yep.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing spending your time down here, then?”

Daisy shrugged. “Just like feeling useful, I guess. I saw an ad for help needed shortly after I moved here. I guess with all the men off fighting they were short staffed.”

“Well, we all appreciate it,” he turned at the sound of Peter calling for him. “I better go. Thanks for the heads up about the navy.”

“No problem,” she leapt off the crate, making her way back down the wooden pier. Sticking her head into the little office at the top of the ramp, she let Johnny know that she was leaving before grabbing her bicycle from where she had parked it. The ride home was pleasant, the air just cool enough to keep her from sweating but not too cold to cause her to shiver.

Her home was a cozy little thing, tucked away underneath a huge oak tree, with moss growing up the gray stone. It looked like a little cottage from a fairytale book. Locking her bike up, she opened her bright red mailbox, tucking the stack of envelopes under her arm as she unlocked the house. She was greeted with a big gray and white streak, laughing as the husky danced excitedly about her feet.

“Hullo, Ghost,” she greeted her companion, scratching him behind one ear. Closing the door, she tossed her keys and mail onto the kitchen table, stooping to scratch the dog behind the ears. “Let’s go outside, big guy.”

As Ghost trotted about the little backyard, Daisy examined her little garden plot and the colorful, assorted pots she had positioned outside, frowning. Her fingers brushed over a wilting leaf. God, she was a terrible gardener.

Trying not to feel too dejected at her latest case of black thumb, she summoned the dog back into the house with a whistle, giving him a bone to chew on while she rummaged through the mail.

The envelope carrying her sister’s familiar handwriting was a deep, emerald green. Chewing unconsciously on the nail of her left thumb, Daisy tore it open, eyes skimming over the words in the letter. Lips pursing at the suggestion that maybe, this summer, she could come back to Newport to visit. Tossing the paper onto the table, she leaned back, arms crossed. She knew that Violet meant well, but still that bitter seed of anger at even the idea of home flared to life inside her chest.

Violet and her father came out to Weymouth to see her a few times a year, but she never came to Newport. The best she could manage was to meet them halfway sometimes. Violet had made attempts to coax her back home before with no success.

There were just too many bad memories there.

But her father was getting slow in his old age and traveling was more and more difficult for him. She knew that eventually, she would have to just bite the bullet and visit. It would be utterly painful for everyone involved, and she certainly would have to stay with Violet, since her mother would likely never allow her to step foot inside the house she had grown up in ever again.

Maybe her mother would try to chase her off with a broomstick and a stream of profanities. Or maybe she would just continue to ignore her existence entirely as she already had for nearly twenty years. Daisy wasn’t sure exactly which one would be more preferable.

Ghost knocked his head against her knee, as if trying to distract her from her melancholic thoughts. Reaching a hand down to stroke his head, Daisy sighed, suddenly feeling very lonely. Granted, the isolation was in many ways one of her own choosing. But from time to time she still longed for a more tangible connection with another person.

Not that it mattered. Her life was what she had made of it. There was no changing that.

∗ ∗ ∗

The docks were buzzing with activity, the owners of the various boats docked there fluttering about. Two navy officers had arrived, dressed in their uniforms, and began moving from boat to boat, informing the captains that they would be acquisitioning their vessels. Men were scrambling to remove all unnecessary materials from the ships and load the required life jackets within the hour that the navy had given them. Young George Mills flew past her, moving at a brisk jog as he headed towards the Moonstone where Peter and Mr. Dawson were already hard at work removing plates and cutlery from the yacht.

Daisy had been busy all day, trying to help everyone get their boats ready. Wiping sweat from her brow, she set down the final box belonging to a ship with a particularly nervous captain, rushing about the deck and worrying over whether or not the navy would approve of his paint job.

She stepped away with a shrug and polite smile, heading towards the Moonstone and smiling in greeting to George, currently holding such a huge stack of life jackets in his arms she could barely see his face.

“Want some help?” she asked, already stooping to scoop up an armful of the orange life jackets. George just smiled shyly and nodded.

“Thank you, Miss. Preston.”

“It’s no problem, kiddo,” she followed him onto the deck, taking a moment to find her footing on the swaying vessel before moving.

“Just stack them below deck,” Mr. Dawson said. Peter breezed past her, flashing her a quick smile in greeting. Mr. Dawson continued to fiddle around near the wheel.

Between the three of them, Daisy, Peter, and George were able to make quick work of the life jackets. She could see the navy officers moving down the dock, a superior looking at a clipboard before assigning teams of soldiers to each boat. A frown pushed at Daisy’s lips. Reading about what was happening at Dunkirk had done nothing but make her feel useless, a feeling that itched under her skin and made her shudder with frustration. All those poor men, trapped and all alone…

Chancing a glance back to the Moonstone, Daisy raised an eyebrow at the sight of Mr. Dawson’s expression as he glanced at the navy officers. Shifting from foot to foot at her position on the dock, she didn’t even consider trying to stop the old man. If he wanted to sail out himself instead of handing over the Moonstone to the navy, that was his decision. Her hands fiddled with each other. He did have two young men with him, though. And as capable as both Peter and George were, it may do them well to have another adult around…

“Ready on the stern line, George,” Mr. Dawson ordered. George stooped at the rope, untying it.

“Aren’t you waiting on the navy?” George asked, eyes big and curious. Jesus, he was so young. The navy officers were walking towards them.

“They’ve asked for the Moonstone, they’ll have her. And her captain,” he straightened his back, turning to go to the wheel.

“And his son,” Peter leapt onto the deck. “Thanks for the help, George. Miss. Preston,” he nodded in grateful acknowledgement. For a moment, her and George’s eyes met, and she saw the quiet resolve in his eyes. The decision was there before he had even made it. The boy took one step forward and hopped onto the boat.

Oh, fuck it. If the kid got to go, then so should she.

“What are you doing!?” Peter asked, looking at George in shock, then gaping as Daisy took the small jump and landed on the deck beside them. “You do know where we’re going?”

“France,” George said. Mr. Dawson turned to stare at them in shock from the entrance to the covered area of the ship that housed the wheel.

“Into war, George!” he said. The navy officers were staring at them from the dock, growing smaller and smaller as the boat pulled away.

“I’ll be useful, sir,” George promised. Mr. Dawson didn’t look very convinced, but one glance at the navy officers watching them sail away made it clear that he had little choice in the matter. Daisy followed him as he returned to his place at the wheel.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he asked, shaking his head. “War is no place for a woman…”

“It’s not a place for an old man either. Besides, you’re sailing out with two kids as your only back-up. You need another adult with you. I’ve taken a handful of nursing classes. It’s not much, but I’d wager I know more about first-aid than any of you boys.”

“Alright, alright. Just be careful.”

She gave him a little two finger salute before heading back outside, to look out over the open water before them. Out there, far away, was a battleground. Their army cornered on a little beach while the enemy closed in from every side. Had any of them had any sense, they would be sailing as fast as they could in the opposite direction.

Sitting down on the deck, Daisy worried at her lip, hoping that they would actually be able to offer real help to the men out there.

Hoping that she hadn’t just made a massive mistake.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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emotionalcadaver · 1 year

Text

In the Heart of War

Chapter 5: Maybe

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: The worst has passed, but that doesn’t mean they’re free of the wounds it left behind.

Series: Part 1 of Cold Waters & Sunlit Gardens

Word Count: 1,856

Notes: Warnings for mention of war, PTSD, and mention of death. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson. We’re at the final chapter! I apologize in advance for the slight cliffhanger, but I do have a sequel planned for these two that I hope to write eventually!

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“What did you do? Before all of this, I mean,” she asked. Henry’s head was still settled on her chest, but she could feel his eyelashes lightly tickle her skin every time he blinked.

“I…uh. I was a gardener,” he let out a small laugh. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a botanist.”

“You’ll have to give me some tips. I’m horrible with plants.”

“Really?”

“I kill just about everything I touch,” she pouted slightly while he chuckled. “You’ve liked plants since you were a kid?”

“Nah. I mean, I always liked books, but…ever since I was little I thought that I wanted to be an ice skater.”

“You thought?” he sat up a bit more.

Those big blue eyes blinked sorrowfully at her. “I’m sorry, Daisy.”

One side of her lips pulled upwards into a sad smile. “It’s okay. I got out of it, in the end. Quit as soon as I was of age. Though Mum practically disowned me for it.”

“Is that why you spent so much time traveling?”

“Partly, yeah.”

“Do you still skate, now?”

“Yeah. Every once in a while, at least. It took a long time, for me to feel good about it again. But I got there. Eventually.”

One of his hands fluttered to cover hers, fingers stroking her knuckles. “Good. That’s good.”

The stairs creaked, as two soldiers emerged from the depths of the boat.

“No, stay downstairs, please,” Peter said, minding the wheel while Mr. Dawson spoke with Collins outside.

“Miss?” she looked up to see a soldier hovering nervously in the doorway, clutching an empty cup in his hand. Henry straightened, leaning away and leaving her to pout at the loss of his warmth.

“Yes?”

“I was…wondering if I could have some more tea?”

“There’s a pot just to the left down the stairs. If it’s empty, feel free to brew more.”

“Well, don’t you two look comfortable,” she cracked an eye open to see Collins grinning mischievously as he moved to approach Peter. Henry tensed. Daisy let her eyes fall closed again.

“Bugger off, Collins.”

He chuckled, going to sit close to Peter so that they could talk. Henry relaxed against her again. Good. They deserved at least a few moments of peace.

They’d more than earned it.

“Daisy.”

She whined, scrunching up her face and squeezing her eyes shut tighter in rebellion from where she’d just barely begun to doze on Henry’s shoulder. He shook her lightly.

“Daisy. Wake up.”

“Whyyyyyy,” quietly complaining, she raised her head to squint tiredly at him. He pointed.

“Look.”

Grumbling, she raised her head, gaze directed to where Henry was pointing. She suddenly sat up straight, all memory of tiredness gone as she pressed her face to the window.

“Holy shit!”

Henry’s arm had remained around her waist, chin coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Now you’ve gotten to see your dolphins.”

Glancing back over at him, she grinned. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Peter said we would be docking at Weymouth soon.”

She tried her best to hide her disappointment. “That’s good,” her head dropped back down onto his shoulder. “It doesn’t really seem appropriate to say ‘this was nice.’”

A humorless laugh left his lips. Tilting her head to look up at him, she smiled.

“But I have enjoyed…spending time with you.”

The back of his hand petted her cheek, brows furrowing as he hesitated a moment, before he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

“Me too.”

“We’ll wait to move the body. Until everyone else is off.”

“So he won’t see, you mean?”

“Yes,” she rested a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Peter shrugged. “It was the right thing to do,” he looked up at her, suddenly looking very young. “Right?”

“Yeah.”

She froze at the top of the stairs.

“Where’s Henry?”

Mr. Dawson shrugged from where he was collecting his hat and coat.

“He went onto the docks already. You could probably still catch him if you run,” Collins said.

“You’d…really like to see me again?”

“Of course!”

“O-okay. Okay. I’ll, um,” he glanced over his shoulder at the whistle of a train. “I have to go home. For a little while. But. I’ll come back. I’ll find you.”

Leaning upwards, she pressed a smiling kiss to his cheek, grin teasing as she pulled away. “You better.”

“Bye, Daisy.”

“Thought you ran off,” Mr. Dawson said.

“I did. But now I’m back.”

Sighing heavily, he glanced sadly over George’s body as they men began to carry him away.

“I’m going to have to call his father.”

“You want me to do it?”

“No, no. It needs to be me.”

“Okay.”

“Will you still be coming around at the docks?”

Eyes darting warily to the open ocean, she chewed on her bottom lip, considering carefully. The memory of gunfire, explosions, and screaming still all too present in her mind.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, Peter and I will love to host you for dinner, sometime.”

“That would be nice.”

“Good, good,” he stuffed his hands into his pockets, eyes scanning over the soldiers heading towards the trains. “We did a good thing here today, Daisy.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“Do you need someone to walk you home?”

“Nah. I’ll be fine.”

Patting her shoulder and nodding, he started to turn away. “We’ll see you later, then.”

“Bye, Mr. Dawson.”

Peter moved to follow his father, but not before turning and giving her a hug. Eyes widening in surprise, she rubbed the boy’s back gently.

“Thanks for all your help.”

“Of course, kiddo.”

“I made a new friend today, boy,” she said quietly, mind thinking of bright blue eyes and a quiet promise.

I’ll come back.

Sighing, she scratched Ghost under the chin, his tail wagging. Try as she might to manage her expectations, she couldn’t help the blooming of hope in her chest.

“Maybe, someday, I’ll get to see him again.”

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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Series: Part 1 of Cold Waters & Sunlit Gardens

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#daisy preston x shivering soldier #daisy preston x henry wilson #daisy preston #shivering soldier #henry wilson #shivering soldier x oc #henry wilson x oc #my ocs #fanfiction #dunkirk #in the heart of war #my fanfiction

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