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littlepeakydevil · 1 day ago

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This was such a wonderful rollercoaster of emotions, Flor! 🖤

Ahhhh the longing! 😩

I love how the way they addressed their letters to each other changed over time. It was such a seamless way to show how their relationship developed.

I adored their letters and the way they gave little details that told us and each other what was going on in their lives. The mention of the kittens especially was so cute!

You did such an amazing job building the tension of James going silent and then the horror of finding out he was injured. Seeing Rose in such a frantic state and rushing to be by his side made my heart ache--but it also speaks such volumes to how she's changed and grown to feel for him in the last few months. And him beating death for her! 🥹 They already love each other so much even if they haven't acknowledged it fully to each other yet.

I'm so excited to see what you've got cooking for them next with James still hurt and Rose back by his side!

True Colours • Part V

Prev.||Masterlist

Summary: James is back in France. || Rose and him write letters to eachother for six months. Until one day, in August, she receives a call with the news she didn't want to hear.

Warnings: Topics related to war. || Exchange of letters. These letters are the responses to the ones the other sent, those weren't written (except one), but you can imagine what they said. || Inaccurate descriptions of injuries.

Words: 3K. || RxJ masterlist

February 9, 1915.

James was again in France under the stars, cold, eating beans from a can and hearing the bombs not far away from where he was. Behind him were those two weeks in England that he knew it was a luxury it wasn't going to last. Mrs. Davison's house and the countryside along with the crickets at night, the birds in the morning was something it didn't exist there. Her delicious food and the smell of toasts in the morning, even less.

"You're daydreaming again," his brother Jared said, appearing from nowhere.

"I'm not."

"You're, James. Thinking about your girl?"

"No. I don't have a girl. In any case I'm thinking about food. You should try Mrs. Davison's stew, that's a Heaven sent."

"I'm sure it is."

James watched at his elder brother and shook his head. What was the point of lying if the man next to him knew him like anyone else on earth?

"Yes, I'm also thinking about her. She's nice, Jared, but I know is too soon, I know that. Anya wrote to me, when? Less than a month ago and I found Rose right after that fucking letter? It's too soon and even when I think Rose is a nice person and pretty, I don't want to rush things, you understand? I need time to think if I really like her or it's my mind trying to find a partner because I didn't fuck in eight damn months."

Those last words made Jared laugh. "I'm afraid more time will pass until you can be with a woman unless you build a friendship with a nurse like Jay did."

"He what?!"

"Exactly what you heard."

"Fucking bastard."

"Yes, that's our baby brother. You should've visited some brothel when you had the chance."

"That's the problem, I didn't have the chance."

"You did. You had the opportunity to go to London and instead of staying in the city you went to nowhere with gooses, dogs and chasing this girl. It's all about choices, Thorne. Was it worth at least?"

"Maybe."

March 19, 1915

The three brothers and part of the battalion they were part of, moved several kilometres to the south. If they believed their conditions were bad, then there were much worse. The Germans were closer in that part and seeing men die like dogs was an every day event. The main rule was no making friends because one second they were there and the other they weren't.

Only during the first hours of the morning, James had enough time to himself and to write to her and even then, it wasn't as frequent as he'd have liked it. The third week of March was already a reality when he found some peace to pick up a pencil and a piece of paper.

My dear Róisín:

I received your letter almost a week ago but only now, I have time to write you back. Things here are a bit difficult right now and I don't enough time to write as I thought. We moved and this part of France isn't the best, but my brothers and me we're all fine. I can't wait to return to the civilization and have some normality again.

I'm glad to read that your brother is back at least for a while. It'll be great for you and him, I hope the moment you receive this letter he's still there with you. My youngest brother is going to have his well deserved rest soon and he's very excited about it but he's going directly to Dublin. As for Jared, our superiors still didn't allow his break. Probably because he has a positive impact in men here, he knows how to speak to them, to keep them motivated and in these conditions that is better than a rifle.

I don't want to bother you with our miserable life here and I'm not allowed to write a lot because letters need to be brief. Tell me some good news.

Thinking of you, James A. T.

March 31, 1915.

Estimated James:

I received your last missive just few days ago, I don't know what's happening with the mail that didn't come in time as they used to, but I'm guessing they're busier than usual.

It's a horrible situation for you and I'm very sorry. I wish I could send you something to comfort you. Next time I will, it won't be one of the meals prepared by Mrs. Davison that you mentioned you dreamt of but I promise you it can be nice, even if just to smile.

Sadly, my brother already returned to Belgium. He changed even if he thinks he didn't. He seems older and not in a good way, spiritually speaking, but I guess it's something inevitable. He's not the boy he used to be anymore.

But enough of melancholy! You asked me to tell you something cute, didn't you? As the warmer weather comes, it means it's kitten season and several of our cats already had kittens; so girls and women here are busy taking care of the mommas and the babies. There's no hallway or room where you don't hear their little meows. Teachers aren't so happy because girls are distracted but let be honest, even them can't resist the charm of the ketzeles. They're adorable.

And in very similar situation, my mother bought a coat she dreamt of for weeks but the second day, her dog decided it was a good place to have her puppies so as you guess, the coat is useless now. But if you think about, there's new life in this world despite the war.

I know they ask to write short letters and I'm finishing this one here. Hope you can dream nice things despite everything.

My best regards, Rose E. C.

April 16, 1915.

My dear Rosie,

Again I must apologise for my late reply. This must surprise you, but they gave me permission to rest for three days. Time is too short for me to go there, but there's a lost village here where I could go and see the nature for a while. I'm here writing this, in fact. There's a cup of tea next to me. A real one! No that mix of grass that they gave us saying it's tea and some pastries. It's nice to say the least. It'd be better if I'm not alone, but time will give me the opportunity to do what I want. And in case it's not obvious, I'm talking about you, Róisín.

Isn't crazy how much you can get to know someone through a piece of paper? We wrote to eachother much more times than we saw eachother and still I feel I know you, more than I know most people around me, except my brothers. And that means a lot to me.

Regarding your question: "Do you suppose it's possible for us to already belong to someone before we've met them?" The answer is "yes."

I'll try to write you sooner. Take care, beautiful Rosie

James,x.

May 15, 1915

As the days become weeks and weeks, months, Rose, who had started her letters in a very formal way found herself addressing at him in ways she only did with her brother. Estimated James, soon became Dear James and before she could realise he was just Jamie.

Jamie,

I'm sorry to hear that. I know you told me the first rule you have there is not making friends but I guess that's easier to say than to do. I don't know what to say except I'm so sorry. Trevor seemed to be a good man for what you said. It's just a horrible situation. If I were there, probably I could do something else for you like giving you a hug, but I'm here and you're going to receive this way later than the moment you wrote me. I just wish that when you receive this you feel better. It's an awful thing, but at least he's in peace, true?

There aren't any new updates here. Just the same as ever. For some reason I can't explain I feel trapped in my life. It happened before but back then I was really trapped. Now I'm the captain of my own destiny but I can't move. I just want time to move faster. Forgive me for what I'm saying probably you'd think what does know this stupid girl about being trapped when above my head a German airplane is trying to kill me. You're right, I don't know but I can't help it either.

I'd pay to see you. Just want to see you.

Rose.

June 24, 1915.

The month that followed was probably the darkest until the moment. With the planes came the bombs and even writing started to be a privilege. In May and the first weeks of June, Rose wrote two letters in a row that he received but couldn't reply until much later.

Rosie,

Happy belated birthday! Why didn't you tell me with anticipation? I'd have written something before and probably you'd have received closer to the 20. I'm delighted to read that you could celebrate with your mother and friends. The cake you described sounded delicious and something I'm sure all of you enjoyed and I'm happy for you, love. Mine is in September 29, if I'm alive and you want to write me something, it'll be my most precious present. I wish I'd send something your way more than this letter but I have hope that I'll be able to give you something personally even if way later. Will you accept it?

There's nothing new to tell you about this place, sometimes I feel I forget how to even blink. They bring new men every day, so it's easier to get confused with names and ranks. But hopefully we can leave this shit hole soon. Everything is green now and the sun shines but for us there's almost no difference but at least now during nights our feet don't hurt.

You're the only good thing I have right now. I want to see you, too. I really do.

Yours, James.

Until July, Rose and James exchanged two or three letters per month. She was right that the mail seemed to be saturated with letters and packages and sometimes it took longer than 15 days to get receive one, especially those coming from France.

She was expecting a new letter from him around the 15th of July but it didn't came. Five days later she started to get impatient and started to have negative thoughts, too. She tried to calm herself saying that not always was going to be possible for him to write to her. It happened before. The little wooden box were she kept all his letters had been opened so many times to re-read his words that one day she just decided to leave it open completely.

That man. What was he doing to her? One day Rose was a woman believing all men were sons of Satan and the other, was worried about one and his two brothers and the lack of news were driving her crazy. The 25th of July, she wrote a second letter to him because maybe the last one she wrote got lost. Rose definitely didn't want to sound desperate but the uncertainty was too big.

The days that followed were as silent as the previous ones. Despite being busy with work, part of her brain was in France with him.

"I'm sure he's fine," Geraldine tried to say to comfort her. There was no reason to pretend anymore that Rose only cared about James as a mere friend and Rose didn't hide it anymore either. "It's true what they say that bad news travel fast, Rosie. I know we believe in different things, but I'll pray for him if you let me."

"Yes, Dina. Of course! I just… I just want some news that's all."

"I know."

August came and with it the last two letters she wrote to him. Unopened because clearly he never received them.

"It means nothing," she tried to say to herself. "Maybe he's in a site where they can't reach him."

The old testament was always on her desk and she read some parts, praying to the old prophets and God to protect James. It was selfish, even disgusting if she thought about it, but she'd trade thousands of souls for his.

On August 5, the phone in her office ran. In 1915, Pebblebrock was one of those very few places were you could find a telephone and because of that rarely rang and every time it did it meant it was quite important.

"Mrs. Coldwell?" said a masculine voice she didn't recognise in the end of the line.

"Yes. Who's there?"

"I'm Sargent Major Jared Walsh, James Thorne is my brother."

"Oh my god, what happened?" Her heart was racing so fast and so was her mind that she didn't realise she was shaking. Her exclamation made Geraldine, that was in the side room, coming quickly to her office and didn't even mind to ask for permission first.

"These last weeks were hard," Jared continued "we moved to the centre of the battlefield and… I prefer to forget. He had been at the hospital in the city for the last three days. They tended his wounds here in the camp first but it's too much. My other brother and me were allowed to be there, we're going right now. I think they don't have hope, that's why they gave us this chance to say goodbye. It's his arm, fuck!" Jared's voice was broken and Rose felt her cheeks wet because her tears. "A grenade exploded where he was. I don't know how he's alive. It's a miracle they say, yet it's hard. I'm calling you, because while he was conscious he only said your name. Can you come?"

"I will. I will, Jared, just tell me where. I'm leaving London tonight and I'll be there impossible soon."

"Thanks Mrs. Coldwell," he said and proceeded to give her the name of the city, the hospital and the one in charge of his battalion.

Probably without her best friend and later her own mother, Rose couldn't have done half of the things she did the next hours after the call.

I think they don't have hope.

Those words pronounced by Jared were repeated in her head nonstop, like a bad omen.

"He's young and strong," Geraldine insisted, when she noticed that Rose was crying again "Everything will be fine."

Her mother who had gone to her daughter's house to pick up a baggage, clothes and shoes for her trip, had returned to Pebblebrock with all she considered necessary. Inside her personal bag she put her identification, notebook, a pendant necklace that was the Star of David and especially money along with a checkbook.

Later that night when she finally was ready, Rose, her mother and Geraldine that was driving left Pebblebrock. Rose managed to pick up the last train. She hugged both women and promised to call them as soon as she could and as soon as she could find a phone.

Her compartment was empty when Rose entered and she was happy about that. She wasn't in the mood for small chats at all. Even when she couldn't sleep, Rose closed her eyes and rested her head against the window letting the cold glass calm her.

After the train, she took the ferry and then, already in France, another train. She was tired and hungry but she was determined to be there.

Her French was rusty but managed to be understood by the old, almost deaf, man that was behind the reception counter in that old hotel she found. She took a quick shower, mostly to wake her up and changed her clothes before leaving for the hospital that Jared mentioned to her.

There were soldiers and nurses around the building. It wasn't as big as the one in Paris but still was big.

Inside, heard a nurse speaking English and she headed to her to ask for help and information.

"Yes, he's here," the woman said reading the folder she had in her hands. "He had a surgery."

"Is he alive?"

'Yes," then looked at her, "but in critical condition. Yes, Thorne. The hospital is talking about how Thorne survived a God's fate. Is he your husband?"

"Oh! No, no. He's a friend. His brother called me last night."

"You're Rose," the woman stated and rested her folder against her chest, smiling at her. "Mademoiselle, he's not your husband… yet. Imagine there's a explosion, a grenade that kills some of your mates, but you survive and the only thing in your mind is someone else's name. Well that happened to him and you're the only thing he repeated until lost consciousness."

Rose didn't know what to say. She was tired, a mix of emotions she didn't had before but especially she was anxious to see him.

It was this same woman who accompanied her through the hallway to the room where he and other soldiers were. The whole hospital smelled like bleach and blood. The smell of death, too. Closed doors prevented from seeing the injured men, but it didn't muffle the screams of pain.

Two young nurses passed running by them carrying a tray with bandages and bottles. The woman who was accompanying Rose, turned her head to look at them but said nothing.

"May I ask your name?" Rose asked.

"It's Louise," she replied.

"Thanks for this, Louise."

"You're welcome," she said smiling briefly at her.

Louise opened the door of a room near the end of the hallway. It was dark and unlike the others, this one was in silence except for the nurses inside who were walking around and whispering things to each other.

"That bed," Louise said pointing at one that was against a wall, next to the bed where a man with both missing legs was laying. Dying.

Six months passed since she had seen him when he left London. The man in the bed didn't look like the one she remembered. This one was pale, his face was covered with perspiration and when she rested her hand on his cheek noticed that was feverish. His beard and hair had grew up but it was still him. His left arm was covered in several layers of bandages and had a metal support over his chest where the arm was lying on. The other was resting against his torso.

Rose took that hand in hers and kissed it. He was cold. She couldn't help but started to sob.

"You promised me not to die," she whispered with tears in her eyes "Keep that promise alive. Please, because I need you."

There was a Rose Coldwell living six months ago who had a very clear idea of what men were to her. When she was 18 promised herself not to trust ever again in one. A promise that for the following eight years she never broke. Six months ago she was a different woman from the one she was now. She kissed his hand hand again and stayed at his side the whole time. Not even his brothers dare to persuade her to move from there.

It was very late that same night when a very weak and sore James opened his eyes for the first time in five days. His mind was foggy and was trying to understand what was happening. He tried to talk but he couldn't.

"You promised me not to die," said a ghost in his head. It was a ghost he knew. But he was still very confused and the same way he woke up, he fall unconscious again. Only this time the fever was gone and for the first time could rest.

James never noticed that she was sleeping in a chair next to him with her head next to his healthy arm. And Rose never knew he had won fight against death because of her.

----

I forgot to tag. @zablife @hoodeddreams13 @peakyswritings @brummiereader

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