His head hurts and he can't feel his legs anymore. Blood clouds and blurs his vision and the shrill ringing in his ears won't go away.

Muffled screams and voices taunt him, but he can't understand a word they're saying. Something about blood...there's so much blood. And Jesus. He catches the word Christ in the midst of the chaos in his head and he's not sure if it's a prayer or an exclamation of horror.

Harry's not entirely sure of what happened. One minute they were sneaking up on the enemy, and the next he's on the ground and in so much pain that he's not sure where to focus his attention.

A mine. He stepped on a mine.

Craig is yelling something to someone and black dots are mingling with the red in his already blurred vision.

Panic starts to set in and he's frantically reaching for Craig's arm, gripping as tightly as he can and begging him to save him.

"D-don't let me d-die out h-here. P-please, not like t-this."

Harry doesn't recognize his own voice and he can barely hear Craig's response, but he knows that he can't keep himself awake for much longer and he trusts that Craig will at least try to save him.

A door shuts down the hall and Harry shoots up in his bed. The moon is casting jagged shadows through the blinds and someone is playing a record down the hall despite the late hour. Sweat coats his forehead and the back of his t-shirt is sticking to his skin like he's just gotten caught in the rain.

His chest rises and falls heavily as he catches his breath and slowly starts to recognize his surroundings. The pictures on the wall, the books scattered on the desk and the cold cup of tea on the nightstand. He's home. He's alright.

The war is over.

It's over.

Women's laughter floats through the hallway and the music gets louder. Of course, that's why the record was still playing. Fred has another girl over. He wants to laugh, but his mind is still stuck in the past, stuck in the war where he nearly lost his life.

Nightmares come more often than dreams do, and sometimes they happen in the middle of the day. There's been some notice of this strange case recently, in other veterans like himself, but no one really knows what to do about it yet and the only people who seem to notice are the veterans themselves.

He's not really sure what this means, and neither are the people who have just started to recognize it, but he wants it to go away.

Since he'd recovered from his injuries and removed from the war, he's felt dejected and detached from himself and the rest of the world around him. Maybe it's a symptom of this shared phenomenon, he doesn't know. All he knows is that he has it and that nothing's been alright since he stepped on that mine in Germany.

Well, more accurately, nothing's been alright since the English government drafted him. Maybe it would've been different if he'd volunteered instead of being chosen, he doesn't know, but he does know that he probably won't ever be the same again.

Hell, sometimes he can't even see his mother because if she looks at him for too long she starts to cry. It's different with his sister because she holds in more of her emotions, but he can see the sympathetic look in her eye and somehow that makes it harder for him to be around her.

Sometimes he thinks about what it would be like if he'd died that day. If Craig couldn't save him and he died on that bloody battlefield with many of his friends and fellow soldiers. Maybe his family would be better off with him dead instead of having to look at the shell of the man he'd become after the war.

Maybe Eleanor would've been better off too. Instead, she'd watched him crumble and collapse into himself. He wasn't the man that she fell in love with before the war and she just couldn't handle it, couldn't cope with the change when he needed her the most. The war had already hurt her and his return and rapid decline only forced the knife further into her heart.

There's a part of him that wishes she'd just left him while he was away. Maybe that would've hurt each of them less.

Harry sighs and runs his right hand through his hair. It's early in the morning and he's incredibly fatigued, but he doesn't want to go back to sleep because he knows that the nightmares will pull him down again.

Sluggishly, he removes the covers from his body and climbs out of the bed. It's been three years since the accident and he's still incredibly cautious with his movements. The blast should've taken his legs off, but by some miracle, his legs were spared. To some extent, anyway. A large amount of shrapnel tore his legs apart and left lasting nerve damage in its wake.

Sometimes he wishes that he'd just lost his legs instead. The weakness in his knees and the random sensations of numbness and pain are always there and he feels like an old man. He's twenty-five years old.

He shuffles into the kitchen with the lights off, turning them on would only irritate his eyes and he's learned his lesson. More laughter flits down the hallway.

Blindly, he reaches into the cabinet and pulls out a glass. By now it's become muscle memory and the size of the glass doesn't matter. The sound of the tap drowns out the laughter for a moment and he absentmindedly traces circles on the counter with his index finger as he waits for his glass to fill.

In the hallway, someone drops something heavy. A loud bang resonates through the walls and he's transported back to the war again.

A bomb explodes to the right. There's shrapnel, grime, and body parts littering the trench but they can't focus on that. He can't mourn the loss of his friends, he has to keep firing. He has to stay alive.

Shouts ring in his ears and he's trying his best not to listen to the wounded as they groan and moan for help. Someone will be coming to get them in a matter of moments and he has to perform his duties or risk even more lives.

A plane swoops by overhead, casting a shadow over everything and releasing another bomb.

This time it's right in front of them and everyone ducks for cover.

It looks like everyone has survived the blast, until someone reaches for his shoulder and he turns around to see who it is.

Daniel didn't duck down far enough and a large piece of jagged shrapnel is protruding from his forehead. His blue eyes are wide and his lips are parted as if he's about to scream but doesn't have the voice to.

Harry's horrified even though he's already seen so much blood and gore, even though he's watched some of his fellow soldiers take their last breath and fade away. Somehow this is worse. He should have been killed instantly, but seeing him with that piece of metal in his face is awful and knowing that he can feel it is even worse.

Daniel's struggling to find words, but Harry already knows that he can't and he knows what he wants to say.

Pushing back the tears, Harry grabs his hands to let him know that he understands. "I'll tell them. You won't be forgotten; you have my word."

He nods briefly before he closes his eyes and his legs give out as his soul leaves his body. Harry bites his lip and looks away. There's blood in his mouth but that's nothing compared to the image that's going to stick with him forever.

Glass shatters on the floor and water splashes over his feet. Harry's breathing rapidly again and his heart feels like it's about to leap out of his chest. It's the small things that get him and he still hasn't gotten used to it, doesn't think that he ever will, really.

There's a stinging pain in his right foot where some of the broken glass has embedded itself. Now he has to turn the light on.

He's just managed to pull the last of the tiny shards from his foot when someone knocks on his door. It must be one of the neighbors because no one is up at this hour besides Fred, and William and William's only up because he just got in from work.

Harry rubs his tired eyes with his hands before mumbling 'coming' and shuffling to the door. A yawn takes hold of him as he pulls the knob and Peggy offers him a soft smile.

"Is everything alright? I heard something heavy drop and then I heard glass breaking."

He does his best to offer her a weak smile, but it looks like it pains him and she's frowning before he even gets a word out. "Yeah, I think William dropped something on his way in. I was getting a glass of water and dropped it, is all. Everything's alright, thank you for checking."

Peggy's a nice woman and he appreciates that she took it upon herself to check up on him, but there's nothing that she can do and they both know that. She lives down the hall and sometimes lets him borrow some of her books when he can't sleep. He'd like to say that she's a friend, but they don't interact much other than that and he knows that it has to do with his constant state of despondency.

Everyone in the hall knows that he's got something wrong with him, they just don't understand and everyone's stopped trying to figure out what it is or to check on him when he's having another episode. Except Peggy, she worries about him like his sister does and she tries to come over and offer some company whenever she hears something coming from his room at a strange hour.

She likes him on some level, and he doesn't really know why considering how fucked up he is, but it's nice to know that someone cares enough to check in on him every now and again.

Peggy nods slightly and her teeth sink into her lower lip for a split second as she shifts a little on her feet, "Are you having trouble sleeping again?"

Harry nods as well, his eyes lowering to his feet and the small beads of blood that haven't stopped returning yet. He feels so weak admitting that he's having trouble sleeping and a little ashamed that she knows he isn't really alright when he says that he is.

"Yeah, I think it might be Fred's music."

She knows that it isn't the music, her father fought in the first war and came back like Harry did. There isn't really an explanation for it, and Harry doesn't know that she understands because she hasn't told him, but she knows that it helps to have someone around that doesn't treat you like you're made out of glass.

"It is rather loud tonight."

He's silent but he meets her eyes again with another soft nod of acknowledgement. Peggy lets her eyes drift to his feet and she frowns when she sees the spots of blood pooling under his foot and atop of his skin.

"I can help you clean up your foot, if you'd like. It's hard to really be comfortable reaching down there and to work hunched over. I don't mind."

She's right and, even though he really doesn't want to ask for help, it would save him a lot of trouble.

"Would you?"

Peggy nods, another soft smile finding her lips again. "Of course."

Before she can walk inside, he speaks almost abruptly, "I don't have anything helpful, just some rags."

"That's okay, I have a first aid kit at my place. Would you prefer to go there, or for me to pick it up and come over again?"

His place is a mess and he doesn't particularly want her to think that he's a slob on top of the fact that he doesn't seem to know how to take care of himself. It's really not bad, just some clothes by the bed and a few cups and plates scattered around, but he still doesn't want to let her see it.

"Yours, if you don't mind."

She nods and offers him another gentle smile as she starts walking back to her door, expecting him to follow. Harry closes his door and follows her with careful footsteps, using the ball of his heel to walk so that he doesn't get blood all over the floor in the hall or the floor in her apartment.

Peggy asks him to follow her into the bathroom so that she can get a better look and so she won't have to bring the entire kit out into the kitchen.

It's a little strange to be in her apartment, he's only ever seen the kitchen from the doorway, but it's rather cozy and now he understands why she has so many books on hand. She likes to relax and read them on her spare time and she's got the perfect space for it.

Peggy has him sit on the toilet after she pulled the lid down and he feels a bit like a child. Granted, he was the one that accepted her offer to help clean up his foot, but he still feels like a youth who's hurt himself on the playground as she searches through her first aid kit on the countertop.

She's silent as she wipes the blood away with a wet washcloth and dabs over each open wound with alcohol, but it doesn't bother him because he prefers to sit in silence now rather than force conversation or talk about things that don't particularly matter.

The cut on the side of his foot is a little deeper than he thought it was and she has to stitch it, but he's glad that she knew how to and that he didn't have to go to the hospital. It's a lot less humiliating this way and he's thankful for her kindness.

He thanks her once she's finished and she offers to make him some tea to help him sleep, says that it used to help her father sleep and that it would do him good. Harry still doesn't want to face his dreams, but he accepts because sometimes they do go away and not all of them are bad.

They're sitting in the kitchen and listening to the faint melody floating through the hall when he finally decides to ask her a question about herself. He doesn't like that she's been so kind to him and that he doesn't know anything about her other than the fact that she enjoys reading.

"How did you learn how to do that?"

Peggy smiles as she joins him at the table with two warm cups of tea. "I volunteered to be a nurse during the war. My father fought in the first one and I wanted to help as much as I could."

Harry wraps his hands around the warm ceramic cup and drinks in the heat that it provides for a moment. "Your father was in the Great War?"

She nods as she reaches for the sugar cubes, "Yes, he was on the front lines. He hated it, but he loved his country and he wanted it to remain the way that it was. It's not like he had much of a choice anyway, they drafted him like they did for most of the country and there wasn't anything wrong with him that could get him out of it."

He wants to ask how she coped with it, seeing hundred and thousands of people dying as they passed through her hands or as they tried to make it there, wants to know how she's managed to get her sleep and wear a genuine smile, but he can't make himself ask.

Harry's never told anyone in the hall that he was in the second war, he's never wanted to admit it, even to himself, but he knows that Peggy knows. Whether she saw him there or if she knew from his actions, she knew.

Something about that is comforting, and it's terrifying at the same time because she knows a part of him that he's tried to keep hidden. Peggy knows why he's up at night and why his legs aren't in top condition and it feels like an invasion of privacy even though she never asked or intended to figure it out.

He sets his cup down and stares at her for a moment. Peggy was expecting a reaction like this and she doesn't mind the heated look that he's giving her. Her father had the same look when she figured something out on her own and he never intended for her to know. She can't help that she's intuitive, it's a part of who she is.

Peggy offers him another gentle smile and takes a sip of her tea. "We don't have to talk about it. What's your business is your business. I'm sorry for figuring it out when you didn't want anyone to, I won't say anything."

Harry looks down at his tea and mumbles a thank you as he takes some sugar. They don't talk after that and they finish their tea in silence. He thanks her again as he places his cup in the sink and starts to head back to his door.

She waits until he's at the door to say anything because she's not sure how he's feeling, "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Peggy."

He falls asleep after his head hits his pillows and this time the nightmares don't return. When he wakes, he groans because he's slept away half of his day off. As if it wasn't bad enough, Douglas, Eugene, and Craig were forcing him to attend some live music show that he probably wouldn't care for.

They'd all insisted that it was worth it and that there was plenty of alcohol to be had, and he eventually relented because he was tired of their constant asking. Some American woman named Lola Simmons would be singing and apparently she was quite popular.

He'll admit that he's heard the name before, but he's not entirely sure that he's heard any of her music. Everything sort of blurs together these days and he tunes out a lot more than he probably should.

With limited time before the show, Harry decides to finish reading the novel that Peggy gave him last week. It's rather good, but it's also a bit dry and it's taken him a while to really want to read more of it.

Unfortunately, he finishes the book and still has some time on his hands. He takes his time making himself an early dinner and then following up with a shower, but it still isn't enough. Considering that he finished the book, he decides to stop by Peggy's and return it.

He's still not really sure how to feel about her knowing about his service, but he knows that she means well and that eases his mind a little as he knocks on her door.

There's no answer, so he tries again just in case she was busy with something and didn't hear him. Again, there's no answer.

Down the hall, Fred has his music playing already and an idea perks Harry's interest. He's not really thinking and in a few moment's he's knocking on Fred's door.

He's taken a little aback when the door practically flies open and Fred meets him with a smile that's too wide for his face.

"Harry, wasn't expecting to see you! Is there anything I can help you with?"

The music is louder now and he gets caught in its gentle melody for a moment.

"I...I was wondering if I could borrow one of your records, if you have it, anyway."

Fred's smile widens impossibly and his eyes light up with joy. He loves talking about music with others, especially when he gets the opportunity to share it with them.

"Of course! What are you looking for?"

For a moment, he's forgotten the woman's name and he frowns because he knows it and it vanished out of the blue. Fred's looking at him curiously and it hits him after a few awkward moments.

"Lola Simmons."

Normally, people are offended by his short answers and somewhat clipped tone, but Fred's been here since he moved in and he knows that it's not meant to be rude. Harry's a closed off person and there's nothing wrong with that.

"Lovely choice! Have you heard her music before?"

Fred disappears into a corner of the room, searching through his box of records with enthusiasm as he waits for Harry's response.

He's still standing in the doorway, but now he's got his hands in his pockets. "No, but my friends are taking me to her show tonight and I'd like to get a feel for the music before I go."

A joyful exclamation passes his lips when he's found the record and he practically runs toward the door. "How lucky! I wanted to go, but the show was sold out by the time I could afford a ticket. She's a wonderful singer, I'm sure you'll like her."

Fred holds out the record and Harry takes it with slight hesitation. He's never really interacted with Fred, but he's a nice guy even if he's a little strange and has a constant stream of women spending the night.

"Thank you, I'll return it before I leave."

He says something about keeping it for as long as he likes, as long as he doesn't ruin it, and Harry thanks him again before heading back to his door.

It's been a while since he's used his record player—usually he just listens to whatever Fred's listening too—and he hopes that it still works.

His fingers carefully pull the vinyl from its case and settle it properly under the needle. Something about listening to this woman for the first time makes him nervous and he's not sure why that is. Perhaps it's because he's going to put a face to the name later and there's a chance that he'll meet her. Whatever the case, he's practically on the edge of his seat as he starts up his record player.

The moment that her voice fills the room with sound is the moment that decides how he's going to act tonight. So far everything has been melancholy and dull, but Lola's colorful voice and poignant lyrics are enough to bring up his mood and instill a small hope that maybe things are going to change after tonight.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A big thank you to hope_moore for lending me this idea! I'm incredibly happy to be writing another WWII fanfic and I hope that everyone enjoys it! Let me know what you think! Much love!

Flora