#dusty15

[hurt-care]

I decided to do a bit of yard work this afternoon when I was finished work because it was so nice out....kinda forgot that yard work makes my nose annoyed with me! So here's some hitching, moaning, itchy spring sneezes for you, Snzblr :)

[hurt-care]

Shelter

This story was inspired by a prompt on Tumblr requesting a historic fic about a cold spreading through a home-front workplace during WWII. I ended up deciding to focus on just two young workers and specifically on air raid wardens, who were in charge of securing the streets during the blackouts in London when Britain was being bombed by the Nazis. I was also very inspired by this photo of a woman who was sick while in an air-raid shelter along with images of the shelters in the subway platforms. 

Shelter

By Dusty15 --

The ladies' boarding home where Miss Rowena Brier lived at 33A Easton Street was normally a rather cheerful and nice place to live. As with any place housing twelve young ladies, it was occasionally prone to waves of gossip and tearful arguments over young men and whispers of scandal, but most of the time it remained civil and sisterly. And with the war on, there was really no time for gossip. Every young woman in the house was employed by his Majesty's government in service to the Crown.

January in London was, as always, dismal and grey and frightfully cold. The boarding house echoed with the sounds of sniffles and the persistent coughs that came from months of damp and dust-filled air from the bombs and the winter drizzle that seemed to never end.

Though Rowena could be called to service in her job as an Air Raid warden, she'd miraculously been granted Sunday as her day off and it could not have come at a better time. That was because she ended up spending her Sunday in bed, taken ill with a stuffy head and chest.

“Can I bring you back anything?” her roommate, Tamara, asked as she applied her lipstick at the vanity in preparation for Sunday tea downstairs.

“A cup of tea and a biscuit would be swell,” Rowena replied gratefully. “The tea Mrs. Burnside makes always tastes better than the stuff we make up here with the hotplate.”

“Will do, love,” Tamara confirmed, shutting her compact with a 'snap!'.

“Take one of our teacups down, won't you?” Rowena asked. “The last thing she will allow is one of her good china cups disappearing upstairs.”

“Good thinking,” replied Tamara, picking up one of the mugs they kept on the sideboard in their room that served as a kitchenette of sorts. “I'll be back after tea. Do get some rest. Shall I shut out the light?”

“Please do,” Rowena said.

Tamara pressed the switch-button at the door, turning off the overhead light, and left the room. In her single bed, Rowena snuggled down under the covers and tried to rest with a hot water bottle between her feet and a handkerchief clutched in one hand.

Sleep, it seemed, simply would not come. Sitting up, Rowena reached out to turn on the bedside lamp and swung her legs out from under the quilt, finding her slippers with her toes.

With her housecoat on and her cosmetics bag in hand, she went down the hallway to the communal washroom shared with several other rooms on the floor. She was relieved to find it empty, for once. The rest of the house was either at tea or at work. She paused in front of the mirror, examining her pink-tinted nose and chapped lips. She was due to work the next day and finding someone to take her shift would be difficult. Instead, she'd have to muddle through and make the best of it.

Digging in her cosmetics bag, she searched for her small tube of eucalypted Vaseline and dispensed a small ribbon on her fingertip. Gingerly, she spread it around the edges of her chapped nose and upper lip. It burned slightly, but she could feel the vapours beginning to loosen her congestion a little and so she inhaled as best she could through her nostrils.

One pocket of congestion shifted and cleared, sending the pungent scent of the eucalyptus straight to her sensitive airway. Rowena's breath hitched suddenly and she shielded her nose with her handkerchief.

Ngh'tschoo!

With a miserable sniffle, she cleared her nose and gave it a wipe. At this rate, she'd need to launder her handkerchiefs or borrow a few from Tamara to take to work.

From her bag, she took her cold creme and went about her routine of smoothing it into her cheeks and under her eyes. Then, filling a water glass, she took some medicine and returned to her room to try to sleep once more.

It was not long before Tamara returned and she sat at the end of Rowena's bedside while Rowena drank the hot cup of tea. They chatted idly about the gossip of the boarding house and boys and work and the war until Rowena began to feel her eyes drooping with the heavy pull of sleep.

“I need to get some rest,” she told Tamara. “I'm due in tomorrow and I can't miss my shift. We've been so short-staffed and everyone's been taken ill lately.”

“At least you don't start until late in the day,” Tamara replied. “I'm due at the factory early. I'll try not to wake you in the morning.”

--

Rowena slept straight through the night, waking to only a little stuffiness and a slight tickle to her throat. Tamara was lone gone to her job at the factory and Rowena spent a leisurely afternoon in her room, drinking tea and listening to the wireless while she worked on a pair of socks she'd been knitting.

After a light supper, she gathered her coat, gas mask, and helmet and headed out for the walk to the nearby Underground station where she'd meet up with her patrol partner for the evening.

As an air raid warden, her job required a patrol of the local neighbourhood, watching for any leaks of light or forgotten lamps burning in the windows of homes in her area. Should the raid sirens sound, she would turn her attention to relocating any persons in the street to the nearest shelters before taking up shelter herself. When all was clear, she'd be the first out of the bunker to check for any damage and to report any fires to the local fire brigade.

The streets were damp and dim as she began her walk. A spare handkerchief was tucked into her coat pocket for inevitable future use along with a small tin of lozenges. Hugging her arms against herself, she trudged onward, eyes scanning the block for any traces of light.

Waiting at the Underground was the welcome sight of William Pierce, looking smart in a wool overcoat and scarf.

“Good evening, Miss Brier,” he greeted her.

Rowena grinned and returned the greeting. Will Pierce was a son of the neighbourhood, someone everyone seemed to have known since he was a boy. Though Rowena had only moved to the area a few years prior, Will had spent his whole life in these eight city blocks where they patrolled and his knowledge of the buildings and streets made him an excellent warden.

The war had enlisted every able man in the country but unfortunately, a bout with polio had left Will with a pronounced limp that disqualified him from service. Instead, he'd taken up this patrol job and it suited him immensely.

“Shall we, then?” he asked, slinging his gas mask over his shoulder and putting his helmet over his thick chestnut-brown hair.

Rowena followed, carefully scanning her side of the street as they walked. They chatted casually, exchanging pleasantries with the few pedestrians they encountered on their patrol as they headed home from work in the dark winter evening. Will loped along at her side with his uneven gait, cheerfully waving to folks and chattering away about a letter his family had received from his brother from the French front.

The unpleasant sting of her cold had returned to Rowena's nose and she began to sniffle softly, trying to keep it to a minimum. Somewhere along their fourth patrol block, she paused and quickly removed the gloves from her hands, searching her pocket for her handkerchief.

Her fingers closed around it just in time and she raised it to her nose, pitching forward slightly with a soft sneeze.

Eh-TSCHII!

Will paused and turned, waiting for her to catch up.

“Bless you!” he said as she reached his side, still tending to her nose with the small cloth. “Not catching ill, I hope?”

“Recovering, actually,” Rowena said, pinching her nose one final time before tucking her handkerchief away. “I was in bed all day Sunday. I was thankful to have the evening off.”

“Lucky you,” he replied. “I could hear our neighbour, poor Mrs. Carson, up half of last night. It seems like there's an awful lot of cold and flu going around.”

“It's this awful damp,” she said, keeping pace as they walked. “I don't think I've felt properly warm in weeks.”

“We have the unfortunate pleasure of living in England, I must inform you,” William teased. “You may never feel warmth again.”

She laughed and gave him a gentle push.

“Don't say that!” she said. “Spring will come soon enough.”

“I hear Hitler is trying to thieve that away too,” William replied. He pointed up at a window where a sliver of light shone. “If we want to see spring again, we ought to have them put out that light.”

Rowena knocked on the door and after much shouting and knocking, a bleary-eyed man answered, apologetic. He'd fallen asleep with the lamp burning and hadn't drawn the curtains. With the error corrected, Rowena and Will continued their patrol.

With an hour left to go in their shift, Rowena was starting to feel herself fade. She toyed with the handkerchief in her pocket, keeping it ready within reach as her breath became more laboured.

“I'm sorry, I need to stop for a moment,” she finally confessed to Will. “Excuse me.”

She withdrew the cloth and turned away to blow her nose a few times to clear it. As she did so, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Will asked.

She smiled wanly.

“You're very sweet,” she said, feeling herself blush. “Yes, I'm quite alright. Just tired and cold. Mostly it's the cold.”

“Here,” he said, unwinding his scarf from his neck. He draped it around her shoulders. It was warm where it had been tucked against his skin. He knotted it tight against her throat.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “I should have brought my own.”

“It's colder than I expected too,” he confessed, checking his watch. “We only have an hour to go. I can do it alone if you want to get inside. We're just around the corner from your flat.”

Rowena opened her mouth to protest but was stopped in her tracks by an impending sneeze that quickly had her cupping her hands over her face.

Eh-TGShhnt!

“I think that answers things,” Will said.

“Oh, I shouldn't,” she insisted, dabbing at her nose.

“It's only an hour and a few blocks. I'll be fine. Go.”

He walked her down the street and around the corner to the boarding house, insisting again that she leave him and go to bed.

Relenting, Rowena reached up to remove his scarf.

“Keep it for now,” he said. “You can return it later. Get inside and warm.”

With a cheery wave, he headed down the dark street and Rowena scaled the front steps to the boarding house door. With trembling hands, she unlocked it and went inside, eager for the warmth of her little shared room.

“Who's scarf is that?” Tamara asked, looking up from the book she was reading in bed when Rowena entered the room. “You look frozen straight through.”

“I am,” Rowena said, sniffling. “And it belongs to Will Pierce.”

“Ooh, the handsome gimp,” Tamara giggled.

“That's not very kind. He's quite nimble for someone with a limp.”

“Nimble and handsome.”

“Anyway, it's his and he lent it to me. I'll return it on our next shift together. I need a hot shower and my bed or this cold is going to come back with a vengeance,” Rowena replied.

--

A few days later, Rowena was back to her full health but the icy damp grip of winter still had a hold on London. She was scheduled to patrol alongside another young woman named Catherine Watson, but she wore Will's scarf just in case they came across him during their rounds.

At ten o'clock, as they passed Fletcher Street, the sharp trill of the air raid siren rang out. Rowena felt her heart leap into her throat as people began to spill out of their homes, rushing to the nearby Underground entrance.

“Quickly and orderly, please!” she shouted, snapping into Warden mode. “Bring your masks and emergency packs!”

She separated from Catherine, taking up her post on the corner, ushering families down the steps into the cavernous subway station. The siren was nearly deafening, but she continued to shout commands over it, helping to organize a group to carry a baby carriage down the steep steps and making sure young children were holding the hand of an adult as the crowd grew larger.

As quickly as the people came, the rush slowed again and Rowena guided the last stragglers downstairs as the roar of airplanes began to rush overhead. People were settling into neat rows along the platform, huddling together with family and neighbours. Someone began to pass around tins of biscuits to calm crying children and several families laid out blankets to make cots for little ones to sleep.

Rowena lowered herself onto the tracks and began to walk the length of the station with a torch shining to light her way. Several hanging lanterns lit the platforms but the station was still eerily dark. She checked with the familiar faces of her patrol route, ensuring that each person had their gas mask and passing out spares to those who had been out in the streets without them when the sirens sounded.

After about an hour, the station had settled into a quiet murmur as many people stretched out on the platform to try to sleep despite the frequent sirens and loud explosions outside, not to mention the damp and cold interior of the subway. A few spare blankets were rationed out to the young, elderly, and ill, but many people who didn't bring emergency kits were simply huddled under their coats.

Rowena quietly walked further down the tunnel, moving her torch slowly, keeping an eye out for Catherine so that she could check in with a report. As she rounded a corner in the track, she saw a person with an air warden helmet leaning against the side of the track but it wasn't Catherine; it was Will Pierce.

She hurried forward, happy to see a friendly face in the dark.

“Will!” she said, reaching his side. “I'm glad to see you; I have your scarf!”

She reached to pull it out from under the collar of her coat.

“No, keep it,” he said. “It's damp down here.”

His voice was softer than normal and a little hoarse.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I think you may have passed along your cold,” he admitted, smiling at her sheepishly as he looked up from under the brim of his hat. With his face now in the light, she could see dark shadows under his eyes and a flush to his cheeks.

Before Rowena could say anything, there was a loud explosion outside that shook the walls of the station and set the hanging pendant lights of the subway platform swinging. From down further in the tunnel, there was a frightened cry and the sound of something falling.

“Come on,” Will said, starting off down the tunnel. Rowena followed, quickly passing him as she hurried towards the noise.

In the dim light further down the tunnel around a bend, she saw a woman crouched with two young children. A small patch of concrete and plaster had given way and fallen nearby.

“Are you alright?” Rowena asked, shining her torch at them.

“Yes,” the woman replied. “Just frightened. It missed us.”

“Come back down to the platform where it's more secure,” Rowena instructed. “I know it's crowded, but it's safer.”

She turned as the woman and her family gathered their things. Will was nowhere to be seen. Concerned, she headed back around the corner, hurrying when she heard the sound of coughs.

Will was bent over, leaning against the subway wall, coughing with an unpleasant rattling sound.

She pulled his scarf from around her neck and circled it around his, tucking it against his chest. The coughs were slowing now but he was breathing heavily, snuffling and wheezing for air.

“Did you bring your kit?” she asked, looking around for the backpack they each usually carried that held an emergency blanket and rations.

“I gave it to someone else,” he said. “They had kids.”

“Okay,” she replied, trying to think of what to do. “Come with me.”

She took his arm, steadying him as he limped down the track at her side, breath rattling noisily in his lungs as he struggled along. They made it back to an area where she'd stowed some spare emergency supplies.

“Can you get back up to the platform?” she asked.

He nodded and swung his bad leg up, straining to pull himself level with the platform. When he finally rolled up over the edge, he was panting and coughing from the effort. Rowena swung herself up and sat at his side.

“Shhh,” she said, bending him forward over his knees so he sat with his legs danging over the side of the tracks. “Slow breaths.”

She rubbed a circle on his back, trying to help him regain his breath. Then, his back shuddered and suddenly expanded outward with a gasping inhalation. He pitched forward, sneezing harshly.

Hurh-TSGHGHH! Nhh-GHSHHT!

“Bless you!” she said. “Sit here and I'll be right back.”

Hurrying down the platform, zig-zagging among the hundreds of people reclining on the floor, she found a supply box and unlocked it, digging through the contents for her pack and some spare supplies.

“What are you looking for?” a voice asked. Catherine was walking from the opposite direction, torch in hand.

“Oh good,” Rowena exclaimed. “I wasn't sure where you'd gone to. Will Pierce was on patrol down at the other end but he's awfully sick and I'm trying to find a blanket and mask.”

“There's spare masks in a box in there,” Catherine confirmed. “I'll get a blanket.”

Rowena finally located the box of flu masks under a stack of gas masks and tugged one from the package. Catherine returned with two blue wool blankets.

“Ta, Catherine,” Rowena replied, taking the supplies. “We're just down by the pillar over there. I'll try to get him settled and then go back to rounds but I'm not sure how long I'll be.”

“I think we're mostly settled in for the night, baring any major incidents,” said Catherine. “So take your time.”

Rowena returned to find William occupied with a rumpled handkerchief held to his nose.

“I found some things,” she said. “This first.”

She spread one of the wool blankets open and draped it over his shoulders.

“And this,” she added, holding out the flu mask. “No more spreading it around. I should have known better myself, but down here it's mandatory.”

“Right,” Will said wearily, taking the mask with the hand not occupied by the handkerchief. He gave his nose a final blow and set the cloth aside. Moving slowly, he took off his helmet and went about the motions of securing the mask over his face.

Without the hat on, Will's thick brown hair was visibly plastered against his brow with sweat and Rowena got her first clear view of his face. His normally bright green eyes were glassy and drooping from lack of sleep.

“Let's get you settled in,” she said, spreading the second blanket on the ground.

“Settled in?”

“Yes, settled in,” she repeated. “You're certainly in no state for anything else.”

“I appreciate the concern, but it's just a cold. You went on patrol yourself with one.”

“But I was recovering and you are definitely not.”

“Still,” Will said, struggling to his feet and letting the blanket drop from his shoulders. “There's plenty to do and I've survived worse.”

He bent over to fold up the blankets and took them in his arms.

“I'll go see if I can find some people who need these more.”

“William...” Rowena said, exasperated.

“You can come with me if you like,” he said, looking back at her. From the crinkle around his eyes, she could tell he was smiling behind the crisp white flu mask.

With a sigh, she hurried off behind him, catching up easily with his uneven gait.

They walked the platform in a mutual quiet, interrupted only by William's occasional sniffles and coughs. He paused to offer one of his blankets to a shivering teenager who'd given up her own coat to a younger sibling and they both stopped to talk to an older couple who needed some water for taking medications. The second blanket went to a pregnant mother sitting with a sleeping toddler on her lap.

Their patrol continued down the tunnel towards the end of the platform. William was starting to lag a little behind and by the time they reached the terminal wall, he was trailing by several paces.

“Other side?” Rowena asked, sitting down on the platform edge so she could climb down onto the tracks.

“Just a moment,” William requested, digging in his pocket. He pulled out his handkerchief and awkwardly pushed his flu mask up to access his nose. He wiped around his drippy nostrils and across his top lip, cleaning up residual congestion. The raw, angry red skin of his nose glowed more fiercely with each wipe and Rowena cringed sympathetically.

“Are you certain you don't want a break?” she asked.

“No, I'll manage,” William confirmed, tucking the handkerchief away and readjusting his mask. With an unsteady movement, he joined Rowena at the platform's edge and dropped down to the tracks, nearly losing his footing as his bad leg took the weight of the jump. Rowena caught his arm, steadying him, and he gave her a grateful nod. They helped each other up and over the edge on the opposite side and continued their rounds.

“How about an evening tea service?” William asked with a glance at his wristwatch as they reached a nearby tunnel that branched off to another connecting station. Several supply carts were waiting with large tea carafes and sleeves of paper cups.

“I think that's a splendid idea,” Rowena agreed. “It's damp down here. I think it would be appreciated.”

“I'll see if I can round up some water,” William offered, lifting one of the large silver carafes and starting off with it in the direction of a water connection. Rowena went about setting up the cart with cups and a few boxes of biscuits.

She heard William's return before she saw him. The sound of coughing echoed off the subway tiles along the tunnel and into the station. She rounded the corner to find him struggling along with the full carafe.

“I've got it,” she said, taking hold of one side.

He shook his head, continuing to move forward, but he could not talk without interruption from his increasingly urgent coughs.

“I'll take it,” a civilian man offered, coming forward to help.

“It goes just there on the cart,” Rowena indicated, pointing towards the supply carriage. The man took the carafe and moved off while Rowena took hold of William's shoulder.

He pulled at his flu mask, tugging it off his face and shielding his coughs with his tented hands instead.

“You sound dreadful,” Rowena sympathized.

“Nothing a cup of tea won't fix,” William rasped between coughs. “Just got myself a bit overexerted with the carafe there.”

“Tea fixes many things, but I don't think it fixes that,” Rowena replied. “I can manage the service. Go find a spot to rest.”

“I'm fine,” William insisted, once again. He tugged his mask back up and clapped his hands together cheerfully. “Where do we start?”

“I'll just set the water to brew. Do you want to go find Catherine and ring the bell? I expect we'll get quite a line.”

She filled a mesh strainer with tea leaves and set it to brew in the large silver pot while William set off to alert the shelter residents to the tea service. A few moments later, a small bell chimed and a line of weary civilians began to form.

William came back with Catherine and another two tins of biscuit rations. Together, the three took turns passing out cups and plates to the assembled crowded and ushering people along the line for tea and a snack.

As they passed out the drinks, another explosion went off outside. Several people jumped, but everyone remained calm except for the nervous cries of a few children. With the offer of a biscuit, however, most of them were quieted quickly.

Sometime on what felt like her hundredth cup passed over, Rowena noticed that William was no longer in his spot by the biscuits. She glanced over her shoulder towards the tunnel, craning her neck over the crowd of people sipping their tea and chattering together

William's thick brown hair was just visible over the crowd for a moment before it disappeared from sight.

“Are you okay here alone?” Rowena asked Catherine.

“Yes,” Catherine replied, handing over more paper cups to an eager family. “Stay as long as you need and try to see if he'll rest. He sounds horrid.”

“I know,” Rowena said with a sigh. “I've been trying.”

She pushed her way through the crowd, stopping to get a blanket from the emergency stores. She came down the passage to a small bend in the tunnel where William was tucked against the wall, caught in the throws of a sneezing fit.

His head was bobbing with each stifled outburst as he kept his nose pinched through his mask. He caught her watching and shook his head like a horse tossing off flies before snapping forward once more.

Ngh-GHT! T'gXHT! Ng'GHT! 'GHT!

“Don't keep them in,” Rowena said, digging a fresh handkerchief from out of her pack and gently guiding it into Will's hand. “You'll burst your ears.”

William shoved his mask down and clamped the clean cloth over his nose, but the sneezes seemed to temporarily cease. But not, evidently, the irritation. He groaned audibly and pressed the cloth harder, wriggling the offending organ and pinching at his nostrils.

“Christ,” he murmured, eyes half closed and mouth open in a state of constant anticipation.

Suddenly, he was back in action again, head snapping forward and eyes clenched shut.

Eh-GHSHHHT!

“Bless you!” Rowena exclaimed. “You're going to lie down before you fall over. Here, I have a blanket.”

Heh-SGHTT!

Will sneezed again and followed it with a wet nose blow.

“I think I'll just sit up against the wall,” he said wearily from behind the handkerchief, sitting down on the ground. “Easier to breathe.”

Rowena hesitated, thinking about Catherine's offer for her to stay as long as necessary.

“That won't get you any proper rest,” she said. “I'll keep you upright.”

She spread a blanket on the ground, sat down at the end, and patted her lap.

Slowly, William stretched out, settling his head tentatively on her thigh.

“That's better,” she said cheerfully, trying to boost his spirits. “Now try to get some sleep. By the looks of you, you need it.”

“I didn't sleep well last evening,” he admitted.

She had half a mind to chide him for coming to work ill but seeing as she'd done basically the same thing, she kept her mouth shut. In her lap, William closed his eyes and lay still for only a moment before she felt him shift.

He reached up, cupping his nose with his hands.

Hehh-TSGHTT!

His head lifted briefly from her leg with the force of the sneeze before falling back down. He reached for his handkerchief and covered his nose with it before the second sneeze.

Hurh-GSHHTTT!

“Bless you,” Rowena said sympathetically.

“That's why I didn't get much sleep,” he grumbled, tugging the mask back over his nose and keeping the handkerchief balled up in his hand.

Outside, there was another explosion and the lights flickered in the station.

“I suspect it may be another night of little sleep,” she said, reaching down and idly stroking his hair away from his forehead. He felt worryingly warm to her touch.

“I hope not,” Will said. His face flexed as he yawned widely behind the mask. “If I'm being honest, I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Then don't try to,” Rowena replied. “Enough chatter. Get some sleep.”

He let himself relax in her lap, soon going heavy and limp with sleep. The roar of airplanes and the whir of sirens kept sounding overhead, but Will slept on.

After a half-hour, Rowena's leg began to feel numb. Carefully, she eased Will's head to the ground and went off in search of Catherine.

She was quickly occupied with the task of putting away the finished tea service. All the while, Will lay sleeping a short distance away.

When she was digging in her pack for a small square of chocolate to help allay the fears of a little crying child, she heard William begin to cough.

Handing over the sweetie to the child's mother, she gathered her things and hurried over to find him half-sitting and wrestling to get the flu mask from his face.

Hurh-TSCGHHH!

He sneezed with a miserably congested sound directly into the mask and continued to paw at his face, trying to get the cotton ties undone from around the back of his head.

“Here, let me,” Rowena offered, carefully untying the mask. Will clamped his handkerchief over his nose as soon as it was uncovered and wiped it aggressively.

He blew his nose several times, shyly turning away from Rowena's view as he did so. Each honk was more and more futile, unable to clear any congestion and only serving to make him more red-faced and sweaty. It was clear from the flush of his cheeks that the fever still held its grip.

Rowena checked the dial of her watch; it was nearly one in the morning now.

Will sat with his head held in one hand, breathing raggedly.

“How can I help?” Rowena asked softly.

“Water?” he replied in a gravelly voice. She went to retrieve her canteen and brought it back to him, unscrewing the lid and handing it over.

He drank thirstily, gulping water down his parched and aching throat. When he finished, he leaned half-reclined against a pillar and closed his eyes.

Rowena reached out and gently pressed a hand to his brow. The fever was definitely still there.

“I know,” Will said, leaning into her touch ever-so slightly. “Not good.”

“I'll get a compress,” she said.

“No,” he murmured, words slurred by sleepiness and congestion. “'m cold.”

“I'll make sure it isn't too cold,” she assured him.

“Stay,” he pleaded, eyes drooping closed.

There was no denying that request. She guided his head back down into her lap and tucked the blankets over him.

Gently, she stroked his hair back from his warm brow and combed her fingers through his thick hair. He drifted back to sleep; the weight of him was heavy on her legs but she shifted slightly to adjust the burden and tucked the blankets closer around him.

Sometime around 5am, after her own period of fitful sleep, a siren signaled the all-clear. William stirred, groaning as he strugged to sit up. Rowena, stiff from a night of leaning against the cold subway tiles, helped him with her own groan of discomfort.

“Feeling any better?” she asked.

William didn't answer. He was distractedly searching for his handkerchief in his pocket and he found it in time to catch two messy-sounding sneezes.

Hrhh-TSGHHHH! Ngh-GHSHTTT!

“I guess not,” Rowena concluded sympathetically.

“No,” William admitted, sounding more congested and hoarse than before.

“The all-clear is out. I need to go do a sweep.”

“I'll come,” William said. “I could do with getting out of the damp.”

“It's five in the morning in England,” Rowena said exhasteratedly. “It'll be just as damp up there. Stay where it's warmer and you'll get out with the rest of the lot. It shouldn't be long.”

He reached for his helmet.

“It'll be longer if you're short-staffed and my flat is on the route. You can hand me off to my mum and be finished with my whinging.”

Rowena felt herself smile.

“Your whinging? I don't think I've ever seen a more cheerful ill person before, if I'm being honest.”

They gathered their packs, stopping to let William blow his nose a few times, and headed up the station steps to the outside.

The early morning light was dim, barely illuminating the empty streets. All the lamps were out, of course, thanks to the manditory blackouts. This was the part Rowena hated the most; the utter silence after an air-raid.

At the far end of the street, a building was crumbled and smoking. Several other wardens were already at the scene, combing the debris for unexploded bombs and any victims. They waved Rowena and William onward.

William's family flat wasn't far from the station, but he was visibly weaker and his limp was more apparent when he was fatigued. The sound of his breath rattled as he trudged along at Rowena's side.

“You need to stop,” she said finally, as they reached the corner of his block. He was nearly gasping for breath, unable to breathe through his nose and fighting the congestion in his lungs for each inhalation. William sank down to sit on some nearby steps and put his arms on his knees, bending forward to cough deeply. Rowena put a hand on his back, rubbing it comfortingly.

Ngh-TSGHXHT!

He shuddered with a congested, thick sneeze. He'd abandoned the flu mask at the station and was armed with his handkerchief alone now. He wiped his nose and sighed with a rattling breath. Without the mask on, the angry red tint of his nostrils and his chapped lips made him look more pitiful than before.

“I bet your own bed and a hot water bottle will be the best comfort you can imagine,” Rowena remarked.

Will smiled a little.

“I should think so,” he said. “But you've been a stellar nurse, Ro. Really.”

She felt herself blush.

“I don't mean to be forward,” he said, pausing between words to clear his throat. “But when I'm well again, I hope you'll let me take you to dinner and the cinema. To thank you.”

“Oh,” Rowena heard herself say. “Maybe.”

They fell silent, sitting on the steps in the early morning dewy air.

“Stupid, daft girl...” Rowena thought to herself. “Maybe?! Of course you'd like that.”

She mustered up her courage and leaned over, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I mean,” she said. “I'd like that very much.”

Will smiled and his fevered cheeks flushed redder still.

“Good,” he said. “I would like that t-tehh...tsh-GHGSHTT!”

He was interupted by yet another sneeze.

“Bless you!” Rowena exclaimed. “Let's get you home and out of this damp air.”

“I think that'd a good idea,” said Will, voice muffled by the handkerchief now clamped to his nose. He gave a sharp, ineffective blow and balled up the cloth in his fist. He stood unsteadily and gripped the railing for support. Rowena curled an arm around his waist and together they walked the final block to his family flat.

“Here we are,” he said, stopping in front of a brick rowhouse. He stood, twisting his handkerchief in his hands, shyly unsure of how to properly thank her.

“I hope you feel better soon,” she said. “Don't hurry back to work. Ring my place when you're well again and we'll go to that picture.”

“I will,” he said. He tentitively reached out a hand and took hers, giving it a squeeze. “I'd kiss you, but I don't want to make you ill again.”

She blushed and squeezed his hand back.

“You can save that for the cinema too,” she replied.

He grinned and let her hand go, turning to make his way slowly up the stairs into the house.

“Be safe,” he said as he turned back to wave from the doorway.

“Be well, she replied, turning and heading back down the block. He watched her go.

Inside, he was greeted by his mother and sister, both recently returned from the shelter in the back garden. One look at him and his mother sent him straight up to his bedroom where he was set up with a spoonful of cough syrup and a hot water bottle and a fresh cup of hot tea.

As he settled in to the single bed, he closed his eyes and imagined himself back in her arms, settled comfortably in her lap.

Three days later, he'd ring her and hear the giggles of the other girls at her boarding house when he asked to speak with her. A year later, when they marry in a quiet ceremony at the city courthouse, still in the middle of a war, he presses an embroidered handkerchief with the date of the air-raid on it into her palm as a wedding gift and she laughs merrily at the sentiment.