Fanfic: Where There Is Moonlight and Music (PG: Part 1 of 2)
Title: Where There is Moonlight and Music
Rating: PG
Pairing: Klaine
Word Count: 6,348
Betas: agent-girlsname and perry_avenue
Summary: British Air Force Lieutenant Blaine Anderson is injured in the London Blitz, leaving him temporarily blinded and uncertain about his future.
---
Pain was the only thing Blaine could feel. His legs felt compressed or crushed and somehow both hot and cold at once. The pain in his head and neck brought bile to the back of his throat and he hoped he wouldn’t throw up because he was quite sure he couldn’t lift his head enough to avoid choking on his own vomit. There was firm pressure all around his head, and he thought maybe there were bandages around his eyes. He was glad for that, because it felt like there might be fire burning under his eyeballs.
He was scared, and confused.
The smell and hard mattress under him told him he was in a hospital. Maybe he had crashed his plane? He didn’t remember going up for a raid the night before. He had thought it was his night off - a rare night where he didn’t take to the skies to fly over continental Europe, risking his life fighting the Germans over millions of scared people. But he wasn’t meant to be up there last night. He was meant to be sleeping in his uncle’s house after some well-deserved leave catching up with those friends and family still in London. Most had fled to the countryside.
Noise and movement around him interrupted his labored thought process. Whispered instructions - nurses he supposed - and the occasional knock against where he lay causing renewed bolts of pain through his legs and up one side of his torso. It was obvious he was in a bad way.
He strained his ears through the bandages around his head, and managed to make out a murmured conversation.
“Yes, I just arrived, I’m Dr. Kurt Hu-”
“Yes Dr. Humphrey,” the second voice - a woman’s, he thought - cut off the first with a strange emphasis. “We were expecting you from the States. Welcome to hell.”
“But that’s not-”
“Here it is,” the woman’s voice insisted. “I fear the patients would not be at ease otherwise. These are frightening times.”
“Fine,” Blaine heard the lilt of an American accent in the male voice, and he thought to himself that the voice sounded kind, before a fresh knock against his leg brought the bile racing up his throat again and he passed out.
---
When Blaine next woke, the pain in his leg and side was an ever-present ache, but no longer agony. The pain in his head had also subsided, but he felt thirsty beyond any thirst he had felt before, and the burning feeling behind his eyeballs, making them feel dry and like there was glass in them, was at the forefront of his mind.
He started moving his mouth, trying to get any relief from his thirst with his own saliva, as the air shifted again. The sound of someone humming softly in the room reached his ears. He recognized the song as being from one of his favourite movies, a Fred Astaire movie from the 30s.
“There may be trouble ahead
But while there’s moonlight and music
And love and romance”
The voice trailed off, and Blaine tried to complete the stanza in a raspy, cracked voice. It was one of his favorite songs, after all:
“Let’s face the music and dance”
The air around him stilled for a moment and then he felt a rush come towards him.
“Lieutenant?” Blaine heard the soft voice just by his right ear.
“Uhhh,” Blaine tried to speak, but the effort of saying the last line of the song seemed to have spent the last of the moisture in his mouth that would allow for speech.
“It’s ok Lieutenant, don’t try to speak,” the air moved again. “Nurse!” The voice rang out more forcefully. “Some water please!”
Some moments later Blaine felt cool liquid against his lips and opened his mouth slightly, trying to work his tongue and cheeks to lubricate his system.
“My name is Dr. Kurt Hu- I am the doctor on duty here,” the soft voice spoke again. “You’re in good hands. Do you know your name?”
“Blaine Anderson, Lieutenant in the British Air Force.”
“Good, Lieutenant. Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital?” Blaine whispered, trying to strain his ears to get a better gauge of his surroundings.
“You’re at the 3rd Station Hospital, London of course. Do you know how you got here?”
Blaine tried to move his head to shake “no” but abruptly stopped and took in a sharp breath as the pain welled inside his head and he felt pressure building anew behind his eyeballs.
“Try not to move,” the doctor’s hand steadied Blaine’s right arm and he realized his arm must be one of the only parts of him that wasn’t injured because the contact didn’t cause any pain. “Just whisper, if you can.”
“I… did I crash?”
“No you weren’t flying,” the doctor’s voice was soothing, and Blaine was relieved for the moment - he wouldn’t have injured any civilians in that case. “The house in which you were sheltering from the raid suffered a direct hit. I’m sorry to say you are the only survivor.”
Blaine gasped, and the pain in his chest rivaled the pain he felt elsewhere. His uncle, cousin, and best friend would have been with him. He couldn’t remember it, but he thought he was meant to be playing poker with them that night.
“Lieutenant please relax,” Blaine felt a slight squeeze on his arm. “For now I need you to concentrate on getting well again - you have sustained serious injuries to your legs and bruising to your abdomen which I hope doesn’t indicate severe internal bleeding.”
“And my eyes, Dr. ... uh…”
“Call me Kurt,” Kurt replied.
An indignant noise came from the corner of the room.
“Is there a problem, Nurse Fabray?” he asked, his voice cutting through the cool but humid air in the hospital.
“Not at all, Kurt,” the nurse’s poised British accent revealed her social standing prior to the war. “I am just unused to your colloquial American ways.”
“I apologize,” the doctor’s voice seemed closer to Blaine’s ear again. “I understand you may find it strange since you are British, but I would prefer it if you referred to me by my Christian name. After all, I am an officer of the Air Force just like you.”
“But you’re American?” Blaine was tiring fast, but confused and curious about the surroundings he couldn’t see.
“That I am,” the doctor replied, “I didn’t say I was an officer of your air force. I volunteered to serve here with injured soldiers and officers in the United Kingdom rather than monitor cuts and scrapes from training exercises in Pearl Harbor - my Government may not have seen fit to support our friends across the Atlantic, but they have allowed people like me to come and help.”
“Hmmm,” Blaine felt the tugs of darkness envelope him once more.
“I will check on you again soon, Lieutenant,” the voice echoed as Blaine slipped into unconsciousness.
“S’Blaine,” Blaine managed to say before yet again he succumbed to Morpheus’ arms. “Call me Blaine.”
---
For days, possibly weeks, Blaine was barely conscious. He learned in brief snippets of semi-wakefulness that both his legs were broken - his right leg shattered quite badly - but that they should heal alright as long as he remained in convalescence long enough. His eyes had obviously also sustained serious damage. He hadn’t understood the words spoken to him but he understood well enough that bandaging was required - the pain and discomfort he felt while bandages were being changed had convinced him of that quite quickly. He was assured, however, that they too would heal, although he would not see for some weeks, perhaps even months, while the healing process ran its course.
The doctor seemed most worried about his abdomen, as there were signs that the internal bleeding, which seemed to have stopped, may have given way to an infection. All Blaine knew was that he felt like less than a person, and horribly disconnected from the world. His only connections to the space around him were the impatient but proficient care of Nurse Fabray, and the quiet but frequently melodious presence of Dr Humphrey, as Nurse Fabray had informed him the doctor was called.
He couldn’t bring himself to address the doctor by his Christian name. He was even a bit embarrassed about suggesting the doctor address him as “Blaine”, and quietly relieved that the doctor had continued to call him “Lieutenant”. His father would have been horrified to hear of such familiarity otherwise.
He wondered where his father was; probably in the war room somewhere with the Minister, advising and assisting in the war effort. Certainly too busy to concern himself with Blaine, especially as Blaine was not fatally wounded. He probably hadn’t even informed Blaine’s mother; although even if he had she would be better served staying with family in Scotland, away from all the ugliness in London.
Still, a friendly or even familiar voice would have been welcome. Even from his vulgar brother, a sailor with the British Navy, though he supposed he was on a ship somewhere in the Atlantic. Blaine murmured a silent prayer that they were all safe and well, wherever they were.
The only time Blaine really felt fully conscious was when he was in immense pain. At times, there was only so much the morphine could do, especially during those early weeks when his legs were being subjected to early treatments to ensure they healed properly.
“I really am so sorry,” Dr. Humphrey’s voice seemed distant through pain as once again his legs were forced into movement. Blaine was just doing his best not to scream, and grunted and groaned as his legs were moved, only slightly, into some form of new bracket. “This is necessary and we just do not have enough morphine.”
“I’m not sure there is enough morphine in the world for this,” Blaine grunted, glad for the bandages over his eyes that compressed them, preventing tears from forming.
Blaine let out a roar of pain as the doctor and Nurse Fabray moved his right leg one final time. As soon as they removed their hold from his leg, however, Blaine could tell the move had been necessary. It was now encased so that it could not move at all, and the pressure on all sides seemed to be keeping the shattered bones from falling out. The pain was still present, but it was now contained.
“I will fetch the next dosage of morphine, doctor,” Nurse Fabray moved out of the room and Blaine felt a draft and click as the door closed behind her.
“Doctor?” Blaine asked, hoping the doctor was still in the room.
“Yes Lieutenant?” Dr. Humphrey’s voice was closer than Blaine had thought, only a foot or so from his ear.
“Am I in a private room?”
“Why no Lieutenant, however you are, shall we say, in rather better shape than your three roommates.”
“Only three?”
“You are in the officer’s wing, Lieutenant, I am informed you may have connections.”
“Oh. I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that.”
Dr. Humphrey chuckled. “If that’s all you’re feeling uncomfortable about, Lieutenant, then I think I should tell the nurse not to give you any more morphine!”
“I’d almost prefer to feel more awake, actually,” Blaine said, regretting it almost instantly as the pain in his legs reasserted itself. “It’s bad enough that I can’t see anything.”
“As frustrating as that must be, Lieutenant, I can assure you the world around us is not particularly beautiful at this time, and I’m not just talking about the drab color of the walls in this room,” the doctor’s voice was tinged with sadness. “You are not missing much.”
“I am missing from my squadron,” Blaine said.
“I am sure you are with them in spirit,” Dr. Humphrey said, “and your thoughts and prayers will help keep them safe.”
“Yeah,” Blaine felt a sudden surge of bitterness. “Safely in the officer’s wing of a hospital, coddled by an actually kind doctor. I wasn’t even shot down while flying! Injured in my sleep! Father must be so embarrassed.”
“You’re a brave man, Lieutenant, and I won’t have any more of this negativity,” the doctor said, placing a cool dry hand on Blaine’s arm. “Besides, I’m informed it was your father that arranged for your care here rather than with the general population.”
“Huh, it wasn’t because he thought I was a brave man, I can assure you.” Blaine said. “He doesn’t consider me enough of a man to be brave, never has.”
“I will forget that you have said that, for I fear you will be embarrassed by your words when you are quite yourself,” the doctor said gently, lifting his hand from Blaine’s arm and moving away from the bed. “But for the record, I am sure that you are a fine man, Blaine, and no matter how you were injured, you were and are in the service of your country. You should be proud of that, and never forget it.”
The door clicked open and shut as Dr. Humphrey left the room, and Blaine became aware of the sounds of other patients breathing, the rhythm slow and steady indicating they were all unconscious.
He let himself join them as exhaustion overtook him, and he tried not to dream, although his spirits were raised slightly by the doctor’s kind words. There was at least one friendly voice in the abyss.
---
As the days wore on Blaine’s periods of wakefulness increased. Unfortunately, it signified his body’s growing resistance to the pain medication, meaning his discomfort increased in equal measure. He supposed he was healing, but it was hard to be sure as he could barely move, and of course could still not see.
Even as he became more aware of his surroundings, however, he spent much of his time feigning unconsciousness.
It had started because the doctor had been right and he was a little embarrassed by his comments. It had not been appropriate to speak so candidly of his feelings, and he did not want sympathy from a person he didn’t know, even if that person was kind and friendly in a way that doctors rarely were. The very fact that he said anything about his family relationships was exactly the kind of thing his father would frown upon.
His apparent inability to converse with the doctor or others beyond simple questions and answers had been accepted after a couple of days and mostly he was left alone.
It was very early one morning, shortly after the doctor had arrived for the day, that they next spoke. It started with the usual questions:
“How are you today Lieutenant?”
“I believe I am improving, doctor.”
“And the pain?”
“It is manageable.”
They were silent for a couple of minutes as the doctor took various measurements around Blaine. Blaine followed his movements with his working senses. He felt Dr. Humphrey’s breath against the hairs on his skin when he was close, heard the steady rhythm of those breaths echoing against the walls, faster than the even breathing of those unconscious officers also in the room, and smelled the faint scent of lavender that must be from the doctor’s soap, although he had no idea how he would have come across such a luxury in England.
“Hmmm.”
“Something wrong, doctor?” Blaine sensed the doctor had stopped near his right shoulder.
“Not at all.”
They were silent for another couple of minutes.
”It’s just you seemed to be warming up to me a couple of weeks ago,” the doctor seemed hesitant, “and now you are almost more formal than the first time we met - although I suppose that is reasonable given the reduced effects of your medication.”
“Perhaps it is just that I am British, doctor. If I have offended you in any way I apologize. I assure you I harbor nothing but the greatest respect towards you.”
“Oh no I am not offended Lieutenant,” the doctor said. “I guess I just find it puzzling. Many of my other patients have become more, I suppose the word would be unguarded, as time has moved on.”
“Is society in the United States really that different,” Blaine wondered, “that such informality is the norm? I honestly do not mean you any offence or consternation, doctor, but our relationship is one that demands a level of civility in my mind.”
“No I don’t suppose it is that different,” Dr. Humphrey sighed. “But I have never cared too much for society’s expectations and norms; many of them do not seem to make sense in practice and I prefer to live by my own sensibilities, not those of someone else. I was able to maintain a sense of camaraderie in the course of my duties in Pearl Harbor, as I was recruited at the same time as many of the people for whom I was subsequently responsible. We were like a band of brothers, stationed in a tropical paradise. In fact, my brother Finn and I were recruited at the same time. He is currently running training exercises in the Pacific.”
“Oh that is fortunate that you and your brother were stationed together,” Blaine said. “Finn. That’s a solid American name.”
“He’s a good American.”
“I’m sure,” Blaine said, “as I am sure you are as well, Doctor. You must miss your brother. I and my country are further indebted to you for coming to assist in the war effort.”
“I feel indebted to the innocent people of the world for whom this war has led to tragedy and devastation. I couldn’t stay on the sidelines, checking on cuts and scrape and the occasional fever among the personnel in Hawaii.”
“I hope those minor ailments are the most that your brothers there have to face,” Blaine’s voice became tight as he thought of those he lost in the raid that put him in the hospital.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” the doctor said. “I hope for the same. I suppose I do miss them, though. England is quite different from the United States, more different than I imagined. I suppose that is part of the reason that I had hoped people here would become more at ease and, yes, more informal, as they got to know me. I think it is even starting to work. Obviously not with you, but most of the ward assistants at least address me as ‘Kurt’ now.”
“Ah well, from what I can infer from their chatter from time to time, I believe you are quite the curiosity for those young ladies,” Blaine smiled. “Quite the prospect too.”
“They are quite friendly and lovely,” the doctor said with what Blaine was sure was a smile. “But I am afraid that they are only to be disappointed if they view me as a prospect.”
“A lucky wife or girlfriend back home? Or has another young lady here in the British Isles stolen your heart?” Blaine realized he was leaving the staid formality behind, but the more he talked, the more at ease he felt, and the less he felt trapped within the bandages and pain. He had wanted a friendly voice after all.
“No, there is no wife, girlfriend or lady.”
As Kurt spoke, the door to the ward suddenly swished open with a rush of cool air from the corridor.
“Lord knows it’s not for lack of opportunity, either,” Nurse Fabray said, moving into the room with what sounded like a trolley of some kind. “The harlots are practically throwing themselves at you; it’s inappropriate and you should stop encouraging it with this ‘Kurt’ business.”
Blaine didn’t know what to say, but found himself rather amused by the exchange.
Nurse Fabray and her trolley moved to exit the room. “I would ask that you accompany me to the H ward, Dr. Humphrey, as one of your patients is being rather difficult this morning.”
The doctor sighed. “Well, ah, I suppose I had better complete my rounds before the rest of the nurses and ward assistants arrive for the day” He checked Blaine’s pulse one more time before moving towards the door. “Thank you for the conversation, Lieutenant. Perhaps you are warming up to me after all.”
“I hope your day is pleasant, Doctor”, Blaine responded. “Perhaps one day, in different circumstances, we may meet again and I may be able to acquiesce to your request and address you as ‘Kurt’.”
As the doctor left the room without further comment, Blaine realized he really hoped his statement would come true.
---
As time continued to pass, Blaine came to know and appreciate the routine of life in the officer’s wing of the hospital, even if he had trouble appreciating how much time was actually passing.
He did not speak to the others housed in the same room as he, for they seemed to come and go while he remained, but he grew to respect Nurse Fabray’s quiet determination in the face of any circumstance.
More than anything, he paid close heed to Dr. Humphrey’s comings and goings, looking forward to their conversations as the doctor made his rounds. He was sure the doctor was only required, or really only had time, to check in once or twice a day on longer term patients such as he, but it seemed he was there more often. Early in the morning was the most agreeable, before the day staff arrived and certainly before Nurse Fabray’s presence was felt with her constant bustling.
They spoke of everything and nothing: music, the theatre, and especially films. Blaine adored visiting the cinema, and was delighted that Dr. Humphrey did as well. They spoke for hours of the movie musicals starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, and the masterpiece that had been The Wizard of Oz. Blaine loved those conversations, because they made it feel like the world was real, that there was more than the constant dark that enveloped his senses.
He started noticing that it was getting colder, and supposed that autumn must be on its way to surrendering to winter. His legs felt the cold particularly badly, despite the strong casings holding them in place. Lying still so constantly wasn’t making it easier, and slowly he felt a chill settling in his chest.
Then, one morning, the doctor came to visit and, try as he might, Blaine could not rouse himself to participate in their conversation as he usually would. He felt hot, and his bandages around his face and casings around his legs were pricking at him due to the sweat forming against his skin.
“Lieutenant, I do not think you are quite well,” the doctor said only moments after arriving. Blaine felt the cool hands against his burning skin and suddenly realized just how tired he still was.
“Well as you know, doc, I’ve got bandages covering most of me and have no idea whether it’s night or day half the time,” Blaine tried to make light of his predicament, but he knew that he was feverish.
“Witty banter, Lieutenant? I am impressed,” the doctor started taking an array of measurements from Blaine. “Yes, you have a fever, nearly 40 degrees centigrade. I will be back.”
Blaine was sure the doctor came back, but the fever hit him hard and he could only follow bits and pieces of the world from which he already felt so isolated. There was talk of infection, and Blaine thought he even heard anger in the doctor’s voice, as if somehow it was the fault of other practitioners in the hospital. As he had done so many times over the past months, he just lay there, hopeless and unable to participate.
He started vomiting, and felt more wretched than he had since that moment he arrived. The vomiting endured for hours, but there was always someone with him, even as he was unconscious, because he would awake to feel their presence, and the welcome of cooling damp cloths against any exposed patches of skin.
“Shh, it’s ok,” Blaine recognized Dr. Humphrey’s voice one of these times. “I would like to try to feed you some fluids, do you think you could keep them down?”
“Where… nurse?” Blaine croaked.
“It is nearly 3am, Lieutenant,” the doctor whispered. “I imagine the night nurse is either sleeping or meeting with her cleaner-companion she thinks none of us knows about.”
Blaine felt a wave of nausea threaten him and stilled himself, concentrating on the cool press of damp cloths on his skin, feeling the pressure of the doctor’s hand behind them.
“Wh- why...”
“You are my patient, Lieutenant,” the doctor replied. “You were my first patient when I arrived and you are probably the only one still here - most of everyone else who was here when I arrived has either recovered enough to leave or… other. I am not going to let you join those ‘others’.”
“What is wrong… with…”
“It’s just an infection. It will pass, but you must be strong, you must fight, as your body has been under prolonged strain. You must fight, Blaine.”
Blaine tried to laugh and ended up emptying the contents of his stomach again, the doctor only just managing to tilt him to the side in time before he risked choking.
“I don’t know how much longer…”
“I won’t let you give up,” the doctor insisted.
They fell into silence, Blaine’s labored breathing the only sound filling the room.
“You know,” the doctor said conversationally, “I do quite admire your Prime Minister.”
Blaine didn’t respond, but he turned his head towards the sound of the doctor’s voice, which the latter took as a cue to continue.
“I can remember listening to a speech on the evacuation of Dunkirk,” the doctor continued. “I had just qualified fully as a doctor and was to be sent to Pearl Harbor with Finn and others. I was afraid, and felt helpless because there was a war of good against evil and I wasn’t able to take part in it. Churchill was so passionate, so determined, and so rousing, I don’t think I will ever forget these words:
“We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; and we shall never surrender”
Blaine held his breath for a second at the last words; the same words that had steeled his resolve, and uplifted him and so many others to a new height in the war effort.
“Never surrender, Lieutenant,” the doctor continued, seemingly not having noticed Blaine’s pause. “You are part of this war effort, and you have your own personal journey to travel.”
“A lot of time has passed since then,” Blaine grunted.
“Maybe,” the doctor replied, “but let me quote to you the words of your Prime Minister from just last week, on the occasion of visiting his old school:
“Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never - in nothing, great or small, large or petty.”
“I read the account in the paper the other day,” the doctor said, and you should take heed, Lieutenant, because I fear you are at the point of giving in, and you should not.”
Blaine felt terrible, for he was letting the doctor down with his melancholy, but his wretched state had continued for months, months of pain and isolation, with no sight and precious little diversion from every ounce of discomfort afflicting him. He felt the fever welling inside him and sense seeping out of him. He felt hope dissipating.
“I do not want to give in,” he said, “but I do not know at this point for what I would be fighting. I am not at battle, and I am not part of the war effort. Even if my legs recover and my eyesight returns I doubt I will be allowed in a plane again. Am I to be contented with sitting on the sidelines? I am not one for the sidelines, doctor. And even after the war, what is there for me? I have enjoyed life in the Air Force because even in peace time it has given me purpose. I do not wish for the standard wife and family. I would not be happy in that circumstance. So I ask you, Doctor, for what should I fight? Why should I not give in?”
There was a long pause. “You should fight, Lieutenant,” the doctor said “because it is worth fighting for the life that you wish for, whatever that may be.”
There was silence for some time between the two of them, and Blaine started nodding off, finally feeling as if he wasn’t burning quite so much. Perhaps his fever was starting to break. He felt the air shift as the doctor stood and moved towards the door. It clicked open and Blaine was waiting for the accompanying click as it shut when he heard the doctor’s voice instead.
“And anyway,” the doctor’s voice seemed to be shaking as he spoke, “it is my hope that there is a viable alternative to an unhappy life with a wife and family if that is not what one desires, for that life is not what I have ever wanted either.”
---
Once his fever broke, Blaine finally started to feel like he was improving. He could shift in his position and even, with assistance from the nurses, move his legs a little without being overcome with pain. His head felt clearer and clearer as his medications were reduced, and the odd pressure behind his eyes seemed to be less. He hoped to have the bandages taken off his eyes soon.
There was a growing itchiness under all his bandages - over his face and his legs - which Dr. Humphrey assured him was a good sign, and Blaine started to look forward to the future. He supposed having a future at all was hope enough, even if what it held for him was uncertain.
Physical therapy had started on his legs, with the nurses, under the doctor’s constant watch, moving his limbs incrementally in preparation for the day when he would put weight on them again. The doctor was always there to supervise and assist, which Blaine suspected wasn’t strictly necessary but appreciated nonetheless.
The therapy sessions allowed them to continue their pleasant exchanges. They spoke in general terms, and Blaine enjoyed hearing of life in the United States. It seemed freer somehow. He was almost certain that he and the doctor had quite a bit in common. They were a similar age and seemed to have similar experiences, with the difference that Dr. Humphrey’s life seemed to have such opportunity. On more than one occasion he spoke fondly of his father, sadly deceased, and how his father had understood the doctor’s wish to live his own life, as long as it was what made him happy.
“I am sure your father wishes only for you to be happy as well, Lieutenant,” the doctor had said one afternoon after a physical therapy session. Blaine supposed the nurses were either busying themselves with other patients, or perhaps the doctor was not concerned with the fact that he was speaking on such informal terms with a patient. Perhaps he spoke in such ways with all his patients.
“I must seem so ungrateful to you,” Blaine had said, “for my father is still living and yet I am not able to connect with him like you did with yours. I wish that it were different, but I fear my father is all too aware that my desires are not in keeping with his plans for my future.”
“The world is not what it once was,” the doctor had replied, “and it cannot go back to what it was before this war. Change can be difficult for many people, especially in a rigid society such as that in the United Kingdom. Perhaps after the war you should think of casting off these shackles you feel from the old world, and enter the new.”
Blaine’s breath hitched and he let himself imagine, for a moment, a new life in the United States, a life where he could know the doctor as a friend, where his ‘desires’ could hope to be fulfilled.
“I should think I would like that very much,” he had whispered, saying nothing more as the doctor had left the room.
Blaine had hoped the discussion would continue later that evening when the doctor did his final rounds, as their discussions commonly did. Like their early morning conversations, their exchanges in the evening had become a comforting part of his day and a brief moment of connection to the world.
But the doctor did not visit that night and Blaine drifted off to sleep eventually, supposing that the doctor must have a life outside the hospital after all. Perhaps a new picture was showing at the theatre next by. He looked forward to hearing about the film.
He was awoken too early, however, by clumsy footsteps in the hall. The footsteps came closer to his room and the door opened. He lay still, wondering what was happening. If it was Dr. Humphrey, however, he didn’t say anything. Blaine felt him in the room and listened keenly as the person sat down on a chair near his bed. Eventually, he heard the person’s breaths shudder.
“Doctor?”
“Dr. Humphrey?”
“I… I am sorry I did not mean to wake you,” the doctor’s voice was hoarse.
Blaine waited for the doctor to say something more but the only sounds in the room were even more labored and shuddering breaths. Blaine realized the doctor was crying.
“Doctor what has happened?” Blaine began to panic. Was it his brother? His father? Had Hitler mounted a renewed attack on the British Isles? “Doctor, please,” Blaine propped himself up slightly, feeling a twinge as his legs complained at the movement. “Tell me doctor, has there been an attack?”
A sharp intake of breath escaped from the doctor’s lips and Blaine knew something had happened.
“Is it Hitler? I did not hear the wireless this evening. Please, doctor, I need to know.”
Blaine heard the doctor take a deep, halting breath.
“It is not Hitler,” the voice sounded so forlorn, so distant. Blaine recognized the distance in Dr. Humphrey’s voice and worried further. Blaine’s voice had had that tone when he had felt at his most lost, trying to stay lost and not feel anything.
“My… my brother? My father?” Blaine thought perhaps the doctor was upset at having to impart bad news.
“No…” the doctor whispered, “it is my brother.”
“But…”
“The Japanese,” Kurt said, “at just before 8am local time the Japanese mounted an air attack on Pearl Harbor. The news reached the wires here just after dinner-time. There are massive casualties. I fear my brother - all - my brothers are… are… dead.” His voice hitched and his breathing huffed, “I fear the world has another great enemy in this war, and the world as a whole is now at war. I am no longer a volunteer helping an allied country in trouble, I am a brother at arms, and a brother in mourning.”
Blaine felt the tears welling and soaking the bandages around his face, but could not bring any words to form.
“I must return, or report anyway, to see what I can do.”
“Of course,” Blaine said. “Doctor… Kurt… I am so sorry that you now know the horror that it is to have such devastation befall you. I am deeply sorry that your country has suffered such an attack on its own soil.”
“I…” Dr. Humphrey started, took a deep breath, and then continued. “I don’t even know what I can do, or where I can go. Here in England, in the middle of the night, I feel so isolated. So helpless.”
“I understand.”
“I am sorry to wake you,” he said again. “I just… I thought I owed you an explanation before disappearing.”
“I would have understood,” Blaine said, touched all the same. He started to move his arm, to reach out to the Doctor, but stopped himself, not wanting to overstep. “We must fight in this war, in whatever way we can. You have convinced me of that, and when I am able I will re-enter the war effort in any way I can.”
“What if it’s not enough?” the doctor asked. “What if the attacks continue, if more forces enter the fray on the side of evil? What if all is lost?”
“I don’t believe that,” Blaine said. “As long as we are alive, there is hope.”
A short silence followed, and Blaine wondered if he would ever speak to the doctor again.
“It is as Churchill has said,” Blaine continued. “We will prevail. We will never surrender. And maybe, when our two countries are victorious, you and I will meet again, in different circumstances.”
“I hope so, Blaine,” a hand squeezed Blaine’s, and was gone all too quickly. “Thank you.”
“It is I who must thank you,” Blaine said, wanting to cry out for the doctor to stay with him as he felt movement around him. “I am forever indebted to you for your care of me, and your company during this long period of isolation I have felt.”
“Fare well, Blaine. I hope to meet again.”
All too quickly, Blaine was alone again. The room around him felt more oppressive than ever, and he felt the weight of a thousand horses on his chest pushing him back into the isolated world he thought he had left behind him. He let a sob escape into what he assumed was the darkness around him, and succumbed to it, wishing that the world were different, and that such tragedies did not exist.
---
Continued in Part 2
A/N: Before you check out part 2 (and it won’t take long, I promise), check out this YouTube of the song “Let's Face The Music and Dance”, from whence the lyrics above come. It describes the mood for this part pretty well. You *could* skip to the song (about 3 minutes 30 seconds in), but the preamble of the silent play really explains the context…
Rating: PG
Pairing: Klaine
Word Count: 6,348
Betas: agent-girlsname and perry_avenue
Summary: British Air Force Lieutenant Blaine Anderson is injured in the London Blitz, leaving him temporarily blinded and uncertain about his future.
---
Pain was the only thing Blaine could feel. His legs felt compressed or crushed and somehow both hot and cold at once. The pain in his head and neck brought bile to the back of his throat and he hoped he wouldn’t throw up because he was quite sure he couldn’t lift his head enough to avoid choking on his own vomit. There was firm pressure all around his head, and he thought maybe there were bandages around his eyes. He was glad for that, because it felt like there might be fire burning under his eyeballs.
He was scared, and confused.
The smell and hard mattress under him told him he was in a hospital. Maybe he had crashed his plane? He didn’t remember going up for a raid the night before. He had thought it was his night off - a rare night where he didn’t take to the skies to fly over continental Europe, risking his life fighting the Germans over millions of scared people. But he wasn’t meant to be up there last night. He was meant to be sleeping in his uncle’s house after some well-deserved leave catching up with those friends and family still in London. Most had fled to the countryside.
Noise and movement around him interrupted his labored thought process. Whispered instructions - nurses he supposed - and the occasional knock against where he lay causing renewed bolts of pain through his legs and up one side of his torso. It was obvious he was in a bad way.
He strained his ears through the bandages around his head, and managed to make out a murmured conversation.
“Yes, I just arrived, I’m Dr. Kurt Hu-”
“Yes Dr. Humphrey,” the second voice - a woman’s, he thought - cut off the first with a strange emphasis. “We were expecting you from the States. Welcome to hell.”
“But that’s not-”
“Here it is,” the woman’s voice insisted. “I fear the patients would not be at ease otherwise. These are frightening times.”
“Fine,” Blaine heard the lilt of an American accent in the male voice, and he thought to himself that the voice sounded kind, before a fresh knock against his leg brought the bile racing up his throat again and he passed out.
---
When Blaine next woke, the pain in his leg and side was an ever-present ache, but no longer agony. The pain in his head had also subsided, but he felt thirsty beyond any thirst he had felt before, and the burning feeling behind his eyeballs, making them feel dry and like there was glass in them, was at the forefront of his mind.
He started moving his mouth, trying to get any relief from his thirst with his own saliva, as the air shifted again. The sound of someone humming softly in the room reached his ears. He recognized the song as being from one of his favourite movies, a Fred Astaire movie from the 30s.
“There may be trouble ahead
But while there’s moonlight and music
And love and romance”
The voice trailed off, and Blaine tried to complete the stanza in a raspy, cracked voice. It was one of his favorite songs, after all:
“Let’s face the music and dance”
The air around him stilled for a moment and then he felt a rush come towards him.
“Lieutenant?” Blaine heard the soft voice just by his right ear.
“Uhhh,” Blaine tried to speak, but the effort of saying the last line of the song seemed to have spent the last of the moisture in his mouth that would allow for speech.
“It’s ok Lieutenant, don’t try to speak,” the air moved again. “Nurse!” The voice rang out more forcefully. “Some water please!”
Some moments later Blaine felt cool liquid against his lips and opened his mouth slightly, trying to work his tongue and cheeks to lubricate his system.
“My name is Dr. Kurt Hu- I am the doctor on duty here,” the soft voice spoke again. “You’re in good hands. Do you know your name?”
“Blaine Anderson, Lieutenant in the British Air Force.”
“Good, Lieutenant. Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital?” Blaine whispered, trying to strain his ears to get a better gauge of his surroundings.
“You’re at the 3rd Station Hospital, London of course. Do you know how you got here?”
Blaine tried to move his head to shake “no” but abruptly stopped and took in a sharp breath as the pain welled inside his head and he felt pressure building anew behind his eyeballs.
“Try not to move,” the doctor’s hand steadied Blaine’s right arm and he realized his arm must be one of the only parts of him that wasn’t injured because the contact didn’t cause any pain. “Just whisper, if you can.”
“I… did I crash?”
“No you weren’t flying,” the doctor’s voice was soothing, and Blaine was relieved for the moment - he wouldn’t have injured any civilians in that case. “The house in which you were sheltering from the raid suffered a direct hit. I’m sorry to say you are the only survivor.”
Blaine gasped, and the pain in his chest rivaled the pain he felt elsewhere. His uncle, cousin, and best friend would have been with him. He couldn’t remember it, but he thought he was meant to be playing poker with them that night.
“Lieutenant please relax,” Blaine felt a slight squeeze on his arm. “For now I need you to concentrate on getting well again - you have sustained serious injuries to your legs and bruising to your abdomen which I hope doesn’t indicate severe internal bleeding.”
“And my eyes, Dr. ... uh…”
“Call me Kurt,” Kurt replied.
An indignant noise came from the corner of the room.
“Is there a problem, Nurse Fabray?” he asked, his voice cutting through the cool but humid air in the hospital.
“Not at all, Kurt,” the nurse’s poised British accent revealed her social standing prior to the war. “I am just unused to your colloquial American ways.”
“I apologize,” the doctor’s voice seemed closer to Blaine’s ear again. “I understand you may find it strange since you are British, but I would prefer it if you referred to me by my Christian name. After all, I am an officer of the Air Force just like you.”
“But you’re American?” Blaine was tiring fast, but confused and curious about the surroundings he couldn’t see.
“That I am,” the doctor replied, “I didn’t say I was an officer of your air force. I volunteered to serve here with injured soldiers and officers in the United Kingdom rather than monitor cuts and scrapes from training exercises in Pearl Harbor - my Government may not have seen fit to support our friends across the Atlantic, but they have allowed people like me to come and help.”
“Hmmm,” Blaine felt the tugs of darkness envelope him once more.
“I will check on you again soon, Lieutenant,” the voice echoed as Blaine slipped into unconsciousness.
“S’Blaine,” Blaine managed to say before yet again he succumbed to Morpheus’ arms. “Call me Blaine.”
---
For days, possibly weeks, Blaine was barely conscious. He learned in brief snippets of semi-wakefulness that both his legs were broken - his right leg shattered quite badly - but that they should heal alright as long as he remained in convalescence long enough. His eyes had obviously also sustained serious damage. He hadn’t understood the words spoken to him but he understood well enough that bandaging was required - the pain and discomfort he felt while bandages were being changed had convinced him of that quite quickly. He was assured, however, that they too would heal, although he would not see for some weeks, perhaps even months, while the healing process ran its course.
The doctor seemed most worried about his abdomen, as there were signs that the internal bleeding, which seemed to have stopped, may have given way to an infection. All Blaine knew was that he felt like less than a person, and horribly disconnected from the world. His only connections to the space around him were the impatient but proficient care of Nurse Fabray, and the quiet but frequently melodious presence of Dr Humphrey, as Nurse Fabray had informed him the doctor was called.
He couldn’t bring himself to address the doctor by his Christian name. He was even a bit embarrassed about suggesting the doctor address him as “Blaine”, and quietly relieved that the doctor had continued to call him “Lieutenant”. His father would have been horrified to hear of such familiarity otherwise.
He wondered where his father was; probably in the war room somewhere with the Minister, advising and assisting in the war effort. Certainly too busy to concern himself with Blaine, especially as Blaine was not fatally wounded. He probably hadn’t even informed Blaine’s mother; although even if he had she would be better served staying with family in Scotland, away from all the ugliness in London.
Still, a friendly or even familiar voice would have been welcome. Even from his vulgar brother, a sailor with the British Navy, though he supposed he was on a ship somewhere in the Atlantic. Blaine murmured a silent prayer that they were all safe and well, wherever they were.
The only time Blaine really felt fully conscious was when he was in immense pain. At times, there was only so much the morphine could do, especially during those early weeks when his legs were being subjected to early treatments to ensure they healed properly.
“I really am so sorry,” Dr. Humphrey’s voice seemed distant through pain as once again his legs were forced into movement. Blaine was just doing his best not to scream, and grunted and groaned as his legs were moved, only slightly, into some form of new bracket. “This is necessary and we just do not have enough morphine.”
“I’m not sure there is enough morphine in the world for this,” Blaine grunted, glad for the bandages over his eyes that compressed them, preventing tears from forming.
Blaine let out a roar of pain as the doctor and Nurse Fabray moved his right leg one final time. As soon as they removed their hold from his leg, however, Blaine could tell the move had been necessary. It was now encased so that it could not move at all, and the pressure on all sides seemed to be keeping the shattered bones from falling out. The pain was still present, but it was now contained.
“I will fetch the next dosage of morphine, doctor,” Nurse Fabray moved out of the room and Blaine felt a draft and click as the door closed behind her.
“Doctor?” Blaine asked, hoping the doctor was still in the room.
“Yes Lieutenant?” Dr. Humphrey’s voice was closer than Blaine had thought, only a foot or so from his ear.
“Am I in a private room?”
“Why no Lieutenant, however you are, shall we say, in rather better shape than your three roommates.”
“Only three?”
“You are in the officer’s wing, Lieutenant, I am informed you may have connections.”
“Oh. I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that.”
Dr. Humphrey chuckled. “If that’s all you’re feeling uncomfortable about, Lieutenant, then I think I should tell the nurse not to give you any more morphine!”
“I’d almost prefer to feel more awake, actually,” Blaine said, regretting it almost instantly as the pain in his legs reasserted itself. “It’s bad enough that I can’t see anything.”
“As frustrating as that must be, Lieutenant, I can assure you the world around us is not particularly beautiful at this time, and I’m not just talking about the drab color of the walls in this room,” the doctor’s voice was tinged with sadness. “You are not missing much.”
“I am missing from my squadron,” Blaine said.
“I am sure you are with them in spirit,” Dr. Humphrey said, “and your thoughts and prayers will help keep them safe.”
“Yeah,” Blaine felt a sudden surge of bitterness. “Safely in the officer’s wing of a hospital, coddled by an actually kind doctor. I wasn’t even shot down while flying! Injured in my sleep! Father must be so embarrassed.”
“You’re a brave man, Lieutenant, and I won’t have any more of this negativity,” the doctor said, placing a cool dry hand on Blaine’s arm. “Besides, I’m informed it was your father that arranged for your care here rather than with the general population.”
“Huh, it wasn’t because he thought I was a brave man, I can assure you.” Blaine said. “He doesn’t consider me enough of a man to be brave, never has.”
“I will forget that you have said that, for I fear you will be embarrassed by your words when you are quite yourself,” the doctor said gently, lifting his hand from Blaine’s arm and moving away from the bed. “But for the record, I am sure that you are a fine man, Blaine, and no matter how you were injured, you were and are in the service of your country. You should be proud of that, and never forget it.”
The door clicked open and shut as Dr. Humphrey left the room, and Blaine became aware of the sounds of other patients breathing, the rhythm slow and steady indicating they were all unconscious.
He let himself join them as exhaustion overtook him, and he tried not to dream, although his spirits were raised slightly by the doctor’s kind words. There was at least one friendly voice in the abyss.
---
As the days wore on Blaine’s periods of wakefulness increased. Unfortunately, it signified his body’s growing resistance to the pain medication, meaning his discomfort increased in equal measure. He supposed he was healing, but it was hard to be sure as he could barely move, and of course could still not see.
Even as he became more aware of his surroundings, however, he spent much of his time feigning unconsciousness.
It had started because the doctor had been right and he was a little embarrassed by his comments. It had not been appropriate to speak so candidly of his feelings, and he did not want sympathy from a person he didn’t know, even if that person was kind and friendly in a way that doctors rarely were. The very fact that he said anything about his family relationships was exactly the kind of thing his father would frown upon.
His apparent inability to converse with the doctor or others beyond simple questions and answers had been accepted after a couple of days and mostly he was left alone.
It was very early one morning, shortly after the doctor had arrived for the day, that they next spoke. It started with the usual questions:
“How are you today Lieutenant?”
“I believe I am improving, doctor.”
“And the pain?”
“It is manageable.”
They were silent for a couple of minutes as the doctor took various measurements around Blaine. Blaine followed his movements with his working senses. He felt Dr. Humphrey’s breath against the hairs on his skin when he was close, heard the steady rhythm of those breaths echoing against the walls, faster than the even breathing of those unconscious officers also in the room, and smelled the faint scent of lavender that must be from the doctor’s soap, although he had no idea how he would have come across such a luxury in England.
“Hmmm.”
“Something wrong, doctor?” Blaine sensed the doctor had stopped near his right shoulder.
“Not at all.”
They were silent for another couple of minutes.
”It’s just you seemed to be warming up to me a couple of weeks ago,” the doctor seemed hesitant, “and now you are almost more formal than the first time we met - although I suppose that is reasonable given the reduced effects of your medication.”
“Perhaps it is just that I am British, doctor. If I have offended you in any way I apologize. I assure you I harbor nothing but the greatest respect towards you.”
“Oh no I am not offended Lieutenant,” the doctor said. “I guess I just find it puzzling. Many of my other patients have become more, I suppose the word would be unguarded, as time has moved on.”
“Is society in the United States really that different,” Blaine wondered, “that such informality is the norm? I honestly do not mean you any offence or consternation, doctor, but our relationship is one that demands a level of civility in my mind.”
“No I don’t suppose it is that different,” Dr. Humphrey sighed. “But I have never cared too much for society’s expectations and norms; many of them do not seem to make sense in practice and I prefer to live by my own sensibilities, not those of someone else. I was able to maintain a sense of camaraderie in the course of my duties in Pearl Harbor, as I was recruited at the same time as many of the people for whom I was subsequently responsible. We were like a band of brothers, stationed in a tropical paradise. In fact, my brother Finn and I were recruited at the same time. He is currently running training exercises in the Pacific.”
“Oh that is fortunate that you and your brother were stationed together,” Blaine said. “Finn. That’s a solid American name.”
“He’s a good American.”
“I’m sure,” Blaine said, “as I am sure you are as well, Doctor. You must miss your brother. I and my country are further indebted to you for coming to assist in the war effort.”
“I feel indebted to the innocent people of the world for whom this war has led to tragedy and devastation. I couldn’t stay on the sidelines, checking on cuts and scrape and the occasional fever among the personnel in Hawaii.”
“I hope those minor ailments are the most that your brothers there have to face,” Blaine’s voice became tight as he thought of those he lost in the raid that put him in the hospital.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” the doctor said. “I hope for the same. I suppose I do miss them, though. England is quite different from the United States, more different than I imagined. I suppose that is part of the reason that I had hoped people here would become more at ease and, yes, more informal, as they got to know me. I think it is even starting to work. Obviously not with you, but most of the ward assistants at least address me as ‘Kurt’ now.”
“Ah well, from what I can infer from their chatter from time to time, I believe you are quite the curiosity for those young ladies,” Blaine smiled. “Quite the prospect too.”
“They are quite friendly and lovely,” the doctor said with what Blaine was sure was a smile. “But I am afraid that they are only to be disappointed if they view me as a prospect.”
“A lucky wife or girlfriend back home? Or has another young lady here in the British Isles stolen your heart?” Blaine realized he was leaving the staid formality behind, but the more he talked, the more at ease he felt, and the less he felt trapped within the bandages and pain. He had wanted a friendly voice after all.
“No, there is no wife, girlfriend or lady.”
As Kurt spoke, the door to the ward suddenly swished open with a rush of cool air from the corridor.
“Lord knows it’s not for lack of opportunity, either,” Nurse Fabray said, moving into the room with what sounded like a trolley of some kind. “The harlots are practically throwing themselves at you; it’s inappropriate and you should stop encouraging it with this ‘Kurt’ business.”
Blaine didn’t know what to say, but found himself rather amused by the exchange.
Nurse Fabray and her trolley moved to exit the room. “I would ask that you accompany me to the H ward, Dr. Humphrey, as one of your patients is being rather difficult this morning.”
The doctor sighed. “Well, ah, I suppose I had better complete my rounds before the rest of the nurses and ward assistants arrive for the day” He checked Blaine’s pulse one more time before moving towards the door. “Thank you for the conversation, Lieutenant. Perhaps you are warming up to me after all.”
“I hope your day is pleasant, Doctor”, Blaine responded. “Perhaps one day, in different circumstances, we may meet again and I may be able to acquiesce to your request and address you as ‘Kurt’.”
As the doctor left the room without further comment, Blaine realized he really hoped his statement would come true.
---
As time continued to pass, Blaine came to know and appreciate the routine of life in the officer’s wing of the hospital, even if he had trouble appreciating how much time was actually passing.
He did not speak to the others housed in the same room as he, for they seemed to come and go while he remained, but he grew to respect Nurse Fabray’s quiet determination in the face of any circumstance.
More than anything, he paid close heed to Dr. Humphrey’s comings and goings, looking forward to their conversations as the doctor made his rounds. He was sure the doctor was only required, or really only had time, to check in once or twice a day on longer term patients such as he, but it seemed he was there more often. Early in the morning was the most agreeable, before the day staff arrived and certainly before Nurse Fabray’s presence was felt with her constant bustling.
They spoke of everything and nothing: music, the theatre, and especially films. Blaine adored visiting the cinema, and was delighted that Dr. Humphrey did as well. They spoke for hours of the movie musicals starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, and the masterpiece that had been The Wizard of Oz. Blaine loved those conversations, because they made it feel like the world was real, that there was more than the constant dark that enveloped his senses.
He started noticing that it was getting colder, and supposed that autumn must be on its way to surrendering to winter. His legs felt the cold particularly badly, despite the strong casings holding them in place. Lying still so constantly wasn’t making it easier, and slowly he felt a chill settling in his chest.
Then, one morning, the doctor came to visit and, try as he might, Blaine could not rouse himself to participate in their conversation as he usually would. He felt hot, and his bandages around his face and casings around his legs were pricking at him due to the sweat forming against his skin.
“Lieutenant, I do not think you are quite well,” the doctor said only moments after arriving. Blaine felt the cool hands against his burning skin and suddenly realized just how tired he still was.
“Well as you know, doc, I’ve got bandages covering most of me and have no idea whether it’s night or day half the time,” Blaine tried to make light of his predicament, but he knew that he was feverish.
“Witty banter, Lieutenant? I am impressed,” the doctor started taking an array of measurements from Blaine. “Yes, you have a fever, nearly 40 degrees centigrade. I will be back.”
Blaine was sure the doctor came back, but the fever hit him hard and he could only follow bits and pieces of the world from which he already felt so isolated. There was talk of infection, and Blaine thought he even heard anger in the doctor’s voice, as if somehow it was the fault of other practitioners in the hospital. As he had done so many times over the past months, he just lay there, hopeless and unable to participate.
He started vomiting, and felt more wretched than he had since that moment he arrived. The vomiting endured for hours, but there was always someone with him, even as he was unconscious, because he would awake to feel their presence, and the welcome of cooling damp cloths against any exposed patches of skin.
“Shh, it’s ok,” Blaine recognized Dr. Humphrey’s voice one of these times. “I would like to try to feed you some fluids, do you think you could keep them down?”
“Where… nurse?” Blaine croaked.
“It is nearly 3am, Lieutenant,” the doctor whispered. “I imagine the night nurse is either sleeping or meeting with her cleaner-companion she thinks none of us knows about.”
Blaine felt a wave of nausea threaten him and stilled himself, concentrating on the cool press of damp cloths on his skin, feeling the pressure of the doctor’s hand behind them.
“Wh- why...”
“You are my patient, Lieutenant,” the doctor replied. “You were my first patient when I arrived and you are probably the only one still here - most of everyone else who was here when I arrived has either recovered enough to leave or… other. I am not going to let you join those ‘others’.”
“What is wrong… with…”
“It’s just an infection. It will pass, but you must be strong, you must fight, as your body has been under prolonged strain. You must fight, Blaine.”
Blaine tried to laugh and ended up emptying the contents of his stomach again, the doctor only just managing to tilt him to the side in time before he risked choking.
“I don’t know how much longer…”
“I won’t let you give up,” the doctor insisted.
They fell into silence, Blaine’s labored breathing the only sound filling the room.
“You know,” the doctor said conversationally, “I do quite admire your Prime Minister.”
Blaine didn’t respond, but he turned his head towards the sound of the doctor’s voice, which the latter took as a cue to continue.
“I can remember listening to a speech on the evacuation of Dunkirk,” the doctor continued. “I had just qualified fully as a doctor and was to be sent to Pearl Harbor with Finn and others. I was afraid, and felt helpless because there was a war of good against evil and I wasn’t able to take part in it. Churchill was so passionate, so determined, and so rousing, I don’t think I will ever forget these words:
“We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; and we shall never surrender”
Blaine held his breath for a second at the last words; the same words that had steeled his resolve, and uplifted him and so many others to a new height in the war effort.
“Never surrender, Lieutenant,” the doctor continued, seemingly not having noticed Blaine’s pause. “You are part of this war effort, and you have your own personal journey to travel.”
“A lot of time has passed since then,” Blaine grunted.
“Maybe,” the doctor replied, “but let me quote to you the words of your Prime Minister from just last week, on the occasion of visiting his old school:
“Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never - in nothing, great or small, large or petty.”
“I read the account in the paper the other day,” the doctor said, and you should take heed, Lieutenant, because I fear you are at the point of giving in, and you should not.”
Blaine felt terrible, for he was letting the doctor down with his melancholy, but his wretched state had continued for months, months of pain and isolation, with no sight and precious little diversion from every ounce of discomfort afflicting him. He felt the fever welling inside him and sense seeping out of him. He felt hope dissipating.
“I do not want to give in,” he said, “but I do not know at this point for what I would be fighting. I am not at battle, and I am not part of the war effort. Even if my legs recover and my eyesight returns I doubt I will be allowed in a plane again. Am I to be contented with sitting on the sidelines? I am not one for the sidelines, doctor. And even after the war, what is there for me? I have enjoyed life in the Air Force because even in peace time it has given me purpose. I do not wish for the standard wife and family. I would not be happy in that circumstance. So I ask you, Doctor, for what should I fight? Why should I not give in?”
There was a long pause. “You should fight, Lieutenant,” the doctor said “because it is worth fighting for the life that you wish for, whatever that may be.”
There was silence for some time between the two of them, and Blaine started nodding off, finally feeling as if he wasn’t burning quite so much. Perhaps his fever was starting to break. He felt the air shift as the doctor stood and moved towards the door. It clicked open and Blaine was waiting for the accompanying click as it shut when he heard the doctor’s voice instead.
“And anyway,” the doctor’s voice seemed to be shaking as he spoke, “it is my hope that there is a viable alternative to an unhappy life with a wife and family if that is not what one desires, for that life is not what I have ever wanted either.”
---
Once his fever broke, Blaine finally started to feel like he was improving. He could shift in his position and even, with assistance from the nurses, move his legs a little without being overcome with pain. His head felt clearer and clearer as his medications were reduced, and the odd pressure behind his eyes seemed to be less. He hoped to have the bandages taken off his eyes soon.
There was a growing itchiness under all his bandages - over his face and his legs - which Dr. Humphrey assured him was a good sign, and Blaine started to look forward to the future. He supposed having a future at all was hope enough, even if what it held for him was uncertain.
Physical therapy had started on his legs, with the nurses, under the doctor’s constant watch, moving his limbs incrementally in preparation for the day when he would put weight on them again. The doctor was always there to supervise and assist, which Blaine suspected wasn’t strictly necessary but appreciated nonetheless.
The therapy sessions allowed them to continue their pleasant exchanges. They spoke in general terms, and Blaine enjoyed hearing of life in the United States. It seemed freer somehow. He was almost certain that he and the doctor had quite a bit in common. They were a similar age and seemed to have similar experiences, with the difference that Dr. Humphrey’s life seemed to have such opportunity. On more than one occasion he spoke fondly of his father, sadly deceased, and how his father had understood the doctor’s wish to live his own life, as long as it was what made him happy.
“I am sure your father wishes only for you to be happy as well, Lieutenant,” the doctor had said one afternoon after a physical therapy session. Blaine supposed the nurses were either busying themselves with other patients, or perhaps the doctor was not concerned with the fact that he was speaking on such informal terms with a patient. Perhaps he spoke in such ways with all his patients.
“I must seem so ungrateful to you,” Blaine had said, “for my father is still living and yet I am not able to connect with him like you did with yours. I wish that it were different, but I fear my father is all too aware that my desires are not in keeping with his plans for my future.”
“The world is not what it once was,” the doctor had replied, “and it cannot go back to what it was before this war. Change can be difficult for many people, especially in a rigid society such as that in the United Kingdom. Perhaps after the war you should think of casting off these shackles you feel from the old world, and enter the new.”
Blaine’s breath hitched and he let himself imagine, for a moment, a new life in the United States, a life where he could know the doctor as a friend, where his ‘desires’ could hope to be fulfilled.
“I should think I would like that very much,” he had whispered, saying nothing more as the doctor had left the room.
Blaine had hoped the discussion would continue later that evening when the doctor did his final rounds, as their discussions commonly did. Like their early morning conversations, their exchanges in the evening had become a comforting part of his day and a brief moment of connection to the world.
But the doctor did not visit that night and Blaine drifted off to sleep eventually, supposing that the doctor must have a life outside the hospital after all. Perhaps a new picture was showing at the theatre next by. He looked forward to hearing about the film.
He was awoken too early, however, by clumsy footsteps in the hall. The footsteps came closer to his room and the door opened. He lay still, wondering what was happening. If it was Dr. Humphrey, however, he didn’t say anything. Blaine felt him in the room and listened keenly as the person sat down on a chair near his bed. Eventually, he heard the person’s breaths shudder.
“Doctor?”
“Dr. Humphrey?”
“I… I am sorry I did not mean to wake you,” the doctor’s voice was hoarse.
Blaine waited for the doctor to say something more but the only sounds in the room were even more labored and shuddering breaths. Blaine realized the doctor was crying.
“Doctor what has happened?” Blaine began to panic. Was it his brother? His father? Had Hitler mounted a renewed attack on the British Isles? “Doctor, please,” Blaine propped himself up slightly, feeling a twinge as his legs complained at the movement. “Tell me doctor, has there been an attack?”
A sharp intake of breath escaped from the doctor’s lips and Blaine knew something had happened.
“Is it Hitler? I did not hear the wireless this evening. Please, doctor, I need to know.”
Blaine heard the doctor take a deep, halting breath.
“It is not Hitler,” the voice sounded so forlorn, so distant. Blaine recognized the distance in Dr. Humphrey’s voice and worried further. Blaine’s voice had had that tone when he had felt at his most lost, trying to stay lost and not feel anything.
“My… my brother? My father?” Blaine thought perhaps the doctor was upset at having to impart bad news.
“No…” the doctor whispered, “it is my brother.”
“But…”
“The Japanese,” Kurt said, “at just before 8am local time the Japanese mounted an air attack on Pearl Harbor. The news reached the wires here just after dinner-time. There are massive casualties. I fear my brother - all - my brothers are… are… dead.” His voice hitched and his breathing huffed, “I fear the world has another great enemy in this war, and the world as a whole is now at war. I am no longer a volunteer helping an allied country in trouble, I am a brother at arms, and a brother in mourning.”
Blaine felt the tears welling and soaking the bandages around his face, but could not bring any words to form.
“I must return, or report anyway, to see what I can do.”
“Of course,” Blaine said. “Doctor… Kurt… I am so sorry that you now know the horror that it is to have such devastation befall you. I am deeply sorry that your country has suffered such an attack on its own soil.”
“I…” Dr. Humphrey started, took a deep breath, and then continued. “I don’t even know what I can do, or where I can go. Here in England, in the middle of the night, I feel so isolated. So helpless.”
“I understand.”
“I am sorry to wake you,” he said again. “I just… I thought I owed you an explanation before disappearing.”
“I would have understood,” Blaine said, touched all the same. He started to move his arm, to reach out to the Doctor, but stopped himself, not wanting to overstep. “We must fight in this war, in whatever way we can. You have convinced me of that, and when I am able I will re-enter the war effort in any way I can.”
“What if it’s not enough?” the doctor asked. “What if the attacks continue, if more forces enter the fray on the side of evil? What if all is lost?”
“I don’t believe that,” Blaine said. “As long as we are alive, there is hope.”
A short silence followed, and Blaine wondered if he would ever speak to the doctor again.
“It is as Churchill has said,” Blaine continued. “We will prevail. We will never surrender. And maybe, when our two countries are victorious, you and I will meet again, in different circumstances.”
“I hope so, Blaine,” a hand squeezed Blaine’s, and was gone all too quickly. “Thank you.”
“It is I who must thank you,” Blaine said, wanting to cry out for the doctor to stay with him as he felt movement around him. “I am forever indebted to you for your care of me, and your company during this long period of isolation I have felt.”
“Fare well, Blaine. I hope to meet again.”
All too quickly, Blaine was alone again. The room around him felt more oppressive than ever, and he felt the weight of a thousand horses on his chest pushing him back into the isolated world he thought he had left behind him. He let a sob escape into what he assumed was the darkness around him, and succumbed to it, wishing that the world were different, and that such tragedies did not exist.
---
Continued in Part 2
A/N: Before you check out part 2 (and it won’t take long, I promise), check out this YouTube of the song “Let's Face The Music and Dance”, from whence the lyrics above come. It describes the mood for this part pretty well. You *could* skip to the song (about 3 minutes 30 seconds in), but the preamble of the silent play really explains the context…