Never Shall Be Slaves, part nine

[dolevalan]

Title: Never Shall Be Slaves
Co-author Credit: abnormal_sea
Fandom(s): Richard Carstone is from Bleak House by Charles Dickens. Tom Jones is from the novel of the same name by Henry Fielding. Danny Sloane (Arthur's younger brother) also makes a brief cameo appearance.
Rating: PG-13, overall, for violence and some language.



When Tom returned that night he had a vivid red mark across his face which may or may not have been visible in the semi-darkness. He crawled into the bunk with Richard and sighed. "No sweets tonight, sir."

Richard frowned, shifting with a small wince. Tonight sleep hadn't come due to his body's protests rather than his mind's activity. "Are you alright, Jones?"

"Yes, sir." Tom sounded a little cowed. "I got a bit cheeky tonight, sir, and they didn't like it."

"I can imagine."

"If they do anything to you later, sir, I just want to say I'm sorry now." Tom rubbed absently at his face.

"You can't constantly blame yourself for their wrongdoing, Tom. I think they're trying to play us against one another, so we'll behave."

"I think it's working, sir." Tom pressed a piece of candy into his hand. "I nicked it on the way out, sir."

Richard laughed, quietly. "Jones, I am afraid you are going to do me much more good than I will be able to do you."

"That's alright, sir. As long as I can do something."

"Just remember to take care of yourself as well." A wry grin. "That's an order, cadet."

"Yes, sir!" Tom smiled and tried unsuccessfully to get comfortable. "Oh. They put something on my shoulder, sir."

"Unexpectedly perceptive of them."

Tom winced. "It hurts even more now, sir, but they said it would help." He sighed. "They are strange, sir."

"They're more than strange, Jones," Richard said, quietly. "They're war criminals, and they're bombing London as we lie here."

"Are you from London, sir?" Tom was a bit hesitant to ask. Richard nodded, calmly, looking up at the ceiling. "Oh. Is it... Have you… Sorry, sir." Tom looked away.

"It's alright. Most of my friends left the city before now. It's more the idea of it."

"Yes. I can barely stand the idea of Somersetshire being bombed."

Richard nodded. "It's why I joined up. As soon as I could."

"I don't know why I did. I suppose I wanted an adventure." Tom laughed a little. "And look at me now."

"You survived behind enemy lines for a good while. And it was bloody rum luck to have such a rough first mission."

"How did your first mission go, sir?"

"We were intercepting bombers on their way to London. I was frightened out of my wits, but our commander knew what he was doing. Seward kept an eye on my back, and I made it out alright."

"They told me that they had hit Parliament."

Richard went quiet for a long moment.

"I'm not sure if I can believe them, but they had a picture and..." Tom trailed off and it sounded like he was sniffling a little.

"They could fake one. And if they wanted us to give up hope, that's exactly what they would do."

"I hope so, sir. But it looked so real. What if we never get out?"

"We will," Richard said, with a quiet, fierce determination. "Wars don't last forever. And we won't ever give up. Our people or us two."

"'Britons never will be slaves,' right, sir?"

A small smile. "Spot on, Jones."

"Then, I wonder what we are."

Richard was quiet a moment. Then he said, "We're hostages. Prisoners. But we're only slaves if we accept we'll be here forever."

"Yes, sir."

Quietly: "You should try to get some sleep, Jones."

"Yes, Rick..." Tom yawned and rolled over, but as soon as he was asleep, his head once again found its way onto Richard's shoulder. Richard eventually fell asleep as well, exhaustion overcoming his soreness.