It was December when I first met Private Jones.

It's hard to pin down exactly what draws you to a person like Jones. It could have been his attitude, the fact that he was the only person there who didn't seem to mind being in his underwear while waiting to get his physical. Maybe it was the way he grinned despite the chilling bite of the Brooklyn winter. Heck, maybe it was just his natural charisma. There was an infectious confidence to him that was hard to ignore. He was the kind of person that anyone would naturally want to be around, even in the awkward situation of being stuck next to him in line to the check in counter in nothing but your underwear. Even amongst the dozens of men crowding the counter to get their enlistment papers checked he was smiling, making conversation, and generally endearing himself to the whole of the room.

I still don't know how I managed to catch his eye. He seemed perfectly happy talking to the man in front of him and those in the other lines to either side of him. I would later learn that he was the type of person who tended to look optimistically forward at all times; it's possible that he just took a while to notice there was anyone behind him at all. He actually looked a little surprised to see me standing behind him, albeit no less pleased.

"Can you believe this place?" It took me a moment to realize that he was the one talking. Hardly anyone had spoken to me since I came in, but now I was being confronted with a cheery grin that seemed out of place in the small, cold room. "Crazy, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"Being here, of course!" He made a wide gesture to the whole of the room. Taking in my obvious lack of understanding, he lowered his arms, still grinning like a fool. "Eh, maybe I'm the only one feeling it… my name's Alfred, by the way." He seemed content to give me a proper greeting, extending his hand the few inches we had between us. "Alfred F. Jones."

"What's the F stand for?" I asked, giving his hand a firm shake. If I had known a simple question could make a man so giddy, I might have asked it sooner.

"Why, Freedom of course!" he replied just a little too loudly. Perhaps it was appropriate that a young man applying for the marines- especially at a time like this- to say such a thing. Some of the others around us laughed, others rolled their eyes. I honestly couldn't tell whether or not he was joking, but as I would come to know Jones I would learn that he wasn't the sort to make things up. At least, it never seemed that way. "What about you, you got a name?"

"Charles. Charles Young."

"Charles, huh? Mind if I call you Charlie?"

"Well, I don't—"

"Great!" He clapped me on the shoulder. I considered correcting him, but at that moment the line decided to start moving and his name was called, and he hurried over to get to his physical. Jones was an odd bird, really; we were all enlistees, men who were there because we put ourselves there, but out of all the men in the room I don't think anybody was remotely as thrilled to be there as he was. I couldn't help but wonder what would become of him when he got out onto the battlefield. I was young too, but even I could tell that his bright-eyed innocence weren't going to last forever.

Boot camp was like hell. I don't know how I survived past the first week, and looking back I'm still not sure how anyone did it. From the moment we got up in the morning to the moment we hit the hay they had us doing something: running, jumping, climbing, shooting, eating, crawling, marching, saluting, sweating, bleeding, crying; it was always something. For the most part I would just put my head down and try to power through it, letting things happen and doing all I could to block out what was going on around me. There were rare moments where my head breached the surface of clear thought and the realization of what I was actually doing came crashing down onto me, often at the worst times. I remember only a few of those moments now, and the ones I do remember were the times that made me want to cry or give up. To top it all off, I missed having hair.

By that point, I had almost forgotten about Jones. I hadn't seen him since that first day back in Brooklyn, and I had no idea which training camp he had ended up in. Thankfully I didn't have the displeasure of running into him during that first week, or else I may have just broken down entirely. Perhaps it would have been better to have someone by my side through all of that, but for whatever reason I found myself terribly afraid of disappointing him.

When I did see him again, I was surprised by just how much I recognized him. He wore the same sunny grin, and gave me the same look of delight as he took a seat beside me in the mess hall. I was so relieved to see a semi-familiar face that I didn't even notice he sat down uninvited.

"Charlie!" he greeted me, adjusting his hat to keep it from falling over his eyes. "Long time no see! It was Charlie, right?"

"I-well yes, but I don't-"

"Thought so!" He shoveled a bite of food into his mouth, as if it didn't taste like cardboard stewed in dishwater. "You know, I didn't think I'd ever see anyone I recognized in this place. I mean, I'm meetin' tons of new people all the time, but nobody I knew from before."

"I think that's typical, actually."

"No joke?" He raised his eyebrows, looking around the room. "Huh… that explains a lot." I didn't understand this man. I hadn't gotten to know any of the other men at the exam office, and I spoke to very few men here in camp. Why Jones expected to recognize anyone is beyond me. It seemed like an odd sentiment to hold for a bunch of people he had no attachment to. "Hey, what am I talking about? You're here!" I stared at him for a moment, unsure of whether or not he was being serious.

"We only met the once at the exam office."

"Yeah!"

"But… we only spoke once."

"Yeah."

"You mean to say you think one meeting makes us friends?" I was incredulous at that point. Here was a man I had met only once in my life talking as if we had known one another for ages. I thought he might laugh or roll his eyes, or even get angry, but he didn't. If anything he looked surprised, and a little confused.

"Well… not friends, I guess, but… I mean, I recognized you, so I thought…" His gaze dropped. It was one of the only times I saw him with anything but a beaming smile, but the stricken look on his face was still juvenile enough to make me feel bad about letting him down. "Am I… bothering you?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"No, no, it's not that," If it was a lie, I didn't have the heart to admit it to myself. "I'm just not sure if you can call that a friendship is all. I mean, I barely know anything about you."

"Oh, is that all?" he asked, slipping back into his perky, easygoing grin. "If you told me you just wanted to get to know me, you could have said so!"

"Well, you would have to know me too, of course."

"Oh, right, of course!" He straightened up. "I don't know anything about you! I barely even know your name, Charlie! Let's see… you're from New York, right?"

"Brooklyn, yes."

"Yeah, me too!" He nodded and shoveled another bite of food into his mouth, swallowing it almost entirely before he tried to speak again. "Great place, Brooklyn. You live there long?"

"About fifteen years."

"Hey, same here!" He laughed, taking a big gulp of whatever we were drinking- it was probably water. I was a little reluctant to take that answer at face value, as I got the impression he was lying to me. I had no idea why, or if he was being sarcastic or not, but I had a hard time internalizing that after what they put us through at this camp, anyone could have such a genuinely positive attitude.

"Well, it might have been less than that, I haven't really been counting. I just know it's the better part of my life."

"Yeah?" He looked up from his tray, scarfing down whatever he had just taken a bite of to get another question out faster. "How old are you anyway?"

"Seventeen." I replied without even waiting for him to finish. He looked at me, a little surprised. If he sensed I was lying, he didn't show it. He only smiled and bumped me with his elbow.

"Yeah, me too, Charlie." He said knowingly, going back to stuffing his face. "Heh… funny how these things work out, huh?"

"Yeah…" I murmured. I got the impression that he was lying again, but I couldn't imagine why; even through his almost childish attitude, I could tell he was at least older than me, certainly old enough to enlist if he wanted to. Sadly, I never got the chance to ask him about any of that, as the drill sergeants were coming through to drag us off to whatever exercise they had planned next. Alfred was up immediately, having cleaned his plate when I wasn't looking.

"Hey, I'll see you around, Charlie!" He assured me with a clap on the shoulder, heading off towards one of the exits. It wasn't until he was gone that I realized I still knew nothing about him.

I honestly didn't expect to see Jones again after that. Sure, I saw him in passing once or twice, picking out his face in crowds or in the mess hall, but we didn't speak again after that one meal. It seemed even less likely once we were deployed, when I was sent to France and he was sent God knows where. I would be lying if I said I forgot about him, but as soon as I arrived I lost the energy to think about him, more focused on things like running, shooting, and not dying.

There was never a quiet moment for us. Rare moments of rest were often loud and even rowdy as men smoked and played cards together. It made me wish I had brought another book- or had thought to ask my mother to send another one for me. Blackjack was all well and good, but I would have preferred an extra hour to read, write, or sleep, and the company of the other men grew draining after a while. If I was truly exhausted and couldn't stand to sit alone with the others for any longer I would occasionally make an excuse to leave. It wasn't like I could go anywhere, but if it was safe I'd usually just wander a bit, looking around the other tents and trying to figure how everyone else was getting along when forced into the company of others for so long.

I didn't mean to wander so far from my own tent. I didn't even realize I was somewhere I wasn't supposed to be until I heard raised voices coming from one of the bigger tents and, upon glancing inside, noted the familiar uniform of one of the British officers, albeit obscured by an awful mess of bandages. There was no way they would want me hearing any of what they were saying, it sounded too serious and official to be meant for common ears. I might have turned and jogged back to my own tent if I hadn't noticed I wasn't the only unwanted eavesdropper on their conversation. Had I been told I would meet him again like this I wouldn't have believed it, and yet there he was, standing at the very edge of the tent flap, peering around it whenever he thought it safe.

"Jones?" He jumped and spun around, wide-eyed and pale in the face. "Jones, what the hell are you-" In an instant he had his hand over my mouth and was pulling me away, until we were around the corner of the tent and out of view in the bushes. Try as I might I couldn't get his hand away from my mouth, even as the British officer inside stepped out to see who had been talking. Only when he started back in did Jones loosen his grip. I promptly yanked his hand away, taking a step away before he could replace it.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hissed, taking a step away. "They'll have your head if they catch you listening in on them, Jones, are you crazy? …are you a spy?"

"No, no!"

"Are you trying to make a run for it?"

"God no!" He had the sense to keep his voice down but he still looked worried, more so than I'd ever seen him- not that I had a lot of experience to go off of. "I was just… look, it's no big deal. Don't worry about it, Charlie…"

"That's not- oh, whatever. Why were you spying on the officers' tent?"

"I told you, I wasn't spying!" He snapped, brows furrowed. "It's just… I know some of the people in there, and I wanted to know what they were talking about."

"If you know them, then why can't you just go in and talk to them?"

"Well, er…" He paused, as if he were trying to think up a lie. He still wasn't a very good liar, that I found, but I couldn't figure for the life of me why he was lying at all. "The thing is, they don't actually know me…"

"So you were spying?" My eyes narrowed. He pursed his lips, glancing back and forth between me and the tent. If he wasn't lying, then I was very curious as to what kind of truth he was telling.

"…look, just don't tell anyone you saw me here, okay?" he whispered, starting away from the tent in the hopes that I would follow. "It's hard to explain, but it's really, really important to me… just trust me when I say that I'm not up to anything, alright?" He extended his hand, giving me a small, hopeful smile. "I mean, do you really think anyone would hire me as a spy?" Through his goofy grin I could tell he was still anxious. All I needed to do was make a sound, to shout or scream or do something to draw their attention. I knew it, and I could tell he did to. It would have been incredibly easy to get him caught in that moment, possibly even discharged. It would have been the last I heard from Jones, the stranger from the enlistment office, the man who refused to call me by my own name. Then again, he was one of the only people there who ever bothered to speak it.

"…you're too poor of a liar to make a good spy." I admitted. He visibly relaxed, returning to his natural grin and reaching over to clap me on the shoulder.

"You're not wrong about that, Charlie." He laughed, hurrying me away from the tent with a mournful glance back towards it. "God knows you aren't wrong about that…" I could hear the longing in his voice. I still have no idea what about that tent was so appealing to him, but I could tell he would much rather have been there listening in on them than he would have been walking with me, and I got the feeling that if I hadn't shown up, he would have stayed there until he really had been caught.

I don't think any part of training could prepare us for what war was really like. All of the same components were there; running and shooting, hiding and crawling, sweating and bleeding. Being there in person, however, was very different. To know that at any moment I could be shot or stabbed or blown to bits was a horrifying experience, even more so when it was all real and in my face. I think the only way I made it through any of that was by not thinking. My mind was entirely blank as I watched the head of the man sitting beside me explode in a spray of blood that coated the men in front of him, and as I was forced to climb over his body as we piled out of the truck- although I got the feeling Jones was slightly more resilient to the sight.

I did take in the orders as they were shouted to us by our commanding officer, though I'm not sure now whether or not I followed those orders. We were all running for cover wherever we could find it, but only the bravest men thought immediately to try and shoot back. I don't remember seeing their corpses, but I didn't see them after that impromptu battle either, so it's safe to assume I just didn't look very hard. I was running for my life, after all, and if I hadn't been focused on that I may never have found that small piece of wall to hide behind, nor would I have known that Jones made it out of the scuffle alive. I saw him run past, not seeming to see me sitting against the wall. I hardly paid him any mind at first, as I was too busy trying to still my hands for long enough to load my gun. I had no intention of jumping out into the open, but I wanted to be prepared incase someone came after me.

I heard a howl of pain and looked over my shoulder. It was Jones, writhing on the floor while trying to fight an enemy soldier away from his face. My hands shook as I took aim and shot the man, first in the neck and then the head, before rushing over to help him. He pressed a hand over his eye, blind to the blood seeping through his fingers until he pulled it away. He couldn't have gotten more than a glimpse of whatever was in his palm before frantically shaking it off and, with great reluctance, putting it back over his face.

"Jones!" I hissed, running to meet him as soon as it was safe. His head whipped around, his good eye gone wide in shock. "Jones, what did-"

"Stop." I did. I had never heard him speak so forcefully. It was as if the word itself had nailed my feet to the ground, and I stood uncertain of how to react. "You need to keep going." He turned to look at me. Beneath his wrist I could see a clear fluid leaking through the blood, leaving a viscous trail in its wake.

"Wh- Jones, your eye, it's-"

"It's fine." He snapped at me, reaching around with his good hand for something he could push himself up on. "They need you out there, Charlie, just go. I-I'm gonna be fine."

"But-"

"Go!" The nails were prised free, and with only a moment's hesitation I turn and ran. If I didn't know better, I might say he seemed desperate to get rid of me, as if there were something under that hand he didn't want me to see. At the time I didn't think much of it, but as the war progressed it seemed that the gesture had been unnecessary; I would see far worse than a man having his eye gouged out before the war was over, and looking back I really wish I had done more to help. After all, that wasn't exactly how I imagined my last meeting with the mysterious Alfred Freedom Jones.

The cool November air made me wish I had brought a thicker coat to the museum. I had reached for one on my way out the door, but with my little great-granddaughter pulling at my arm, pleading me to hurry out to the car so we could get going already, I managed to forget all about it. The car was warm, as were the bright smiles of the sweet little child in the car seat beside me as she insisted I try to beat her high score at Ipad. I lost a couple of times on purpose just to pass the thing back to her, intent on taking in the scenery while I had the chance. I would never tire of seeing Washington DC every day, nor would I ever grow bored with the changing of the seasons, the vibrant reds and golds that made the streets of the capital city glow with color and life.

It seemed that only minutes had passed before we stopped again, and I was being helped out of the backseat and onto the sidewalk. The cold tended to keep people inside and away from museums and other such places, but for today they would come out to appreciate the legacy of their country, to appreciate those fighting men who had given their lives. More than seventy years had passed since I had seen the battlefield, but not even I could help the swell of pride in my heart as I gazed up at the American flag flying over the entrance to the museum.

"Grampa Charlie, let's go inside!" I looked down, a smile tugging at my lips as I led the sweet little girl up the steps of the building.

"Alright Anne-Marie, just give me a moment…"

"That's not my name, Grampa, I'm Rebekkah!"

"Hm?" I raised an eyebrow. It wasn't the first time I had mistaken her for my own daughter. The resemblance between the two was uncanny, though my Anne-Marie had long since grown up. I managed to laugh it off, holding the door open for her and the rest of the family until my daughter came and took it off my hands.

"Thank you Susan, you're such a dear."

"Dad, I'm Anne-Marie."

"Oh, you girls…" I chuckled, shaking my head in exasperation as we stepped into the museum. It was all too familiar to me now. I had been coming to this museum invariably for over fifty years, and I knew it like the back of my hand. Granted the exhibits had changed since the very beginning, I knew where to find my old favorites.

Within minutes I had wandered away from the group. It wasn't as though they expected anything else at this point; I had a habit of wandering off in these places, to the degree that they would know where to look when they realized I was gone. In truth, I didn't mind the lack of attention. I preferred my own pace to theirs or even that of the tour guides. They always wanted to move quickly and see everything, rushing everyone around the museum only to dump them off in the gift shop at the end. There were really only a couple of things I wanted to see anyway, most of which were on the third floor. For a short, blissful while the exhibit was empty, and I took my time walking from plaque to plaque, reading each one and taking a moment to examine the objects on display. I had only just finished the display on Sergeant Stubby when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir?" I glanced up. A young man, a tour guide by the looks of it. He was handsome enough to have stepped right out of one of the exhibits, though the glasses sitting crooked on his face wouldn't have lasted five minutes on the battlefield. He seemed surprised when I turned to face him, as if he thought I was some sort of ghost.

"Can I help you?" I asked. It seemed to snap him from his daze, and in an instant he was all smiles again, his blue eyes bright and brimming with life.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" He laughed, leaning his elbow on the railing. "I'm just kidding. You look like you're doing just find for your age, huh old-timer?" I wasn't quite sure what to say. I felt like I should have been offended by this, and a part of me was, but the way he said it was so casual and genuine that I wondered if I had met this young man before. I looked him over for a nametag but found only a sticker with the name "Alfred" scribbled on it in thick red pen.

"Alfred, correct?" I looked up, taking his brilliant grin as confirmation. "Hmm… Were you named for your Grandfather?"

"Grandfather?" Alfred cocked his head, crossing his arms over the railing "That's uh, highly unlikely... Why do you ask?"

"No reason really. You just remind me of someone I used to know back in the day."

"Oh, really?" He raised his eyebrows at me, somehow amused by all of this. "Well, what's your name? I could ask if he knows it when I get the chance."

"Charles Young."

"Charles, huh?" I could swear he was fighting back a grin. "Heh, mind if I call you Charlie?" At this I couldn't help but laugh. Alfred joined me in an instant, filling the room with his infectious laughter as though it were some grand inside joke between the two of us. I reached up and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Only my grandchildren call me Charlie these days." I chuckled, leaning against the railing that stood between us and the display. "Eh, why not? You don't look too much younger than them anyway, so I suppose it's alright." People had been calling me Charlie for as long as I could remember, to the point where it no longer bothered me. This seemed to surprise my young friend. Had he not expected me to agree? Maybe he did this to all the veterans who walked through the exhibit and simply wasn't used to having us go along with his teasing. Regardless of what it was I opted not to mention it, glancing around the exhibit. "Do you work here, Alfred?"

"Huh?" He blinked, turning his eyes back onto me. "Oh, no, I just volunteer here a lot. I've got kind of a thing for American history, and they typically need extra help on long weekends like these, so I like to come if I can."

"Ah, I see." I nodded slowly. "I wish more young people felt the same way. It's so rare to see kids these days taking an interest in history."

"Oh yeah, they love me here. I've been doing this for like, ever." He grinned, gazing around the room. "I like to poke around up here before all the guests arrive. The forties were pretty crazy, huh? Man, we've had color TV for so long now that I can't even remember what it was like before that…" I raised an eyebrow at him, turning to look him over again.

"You talk as if you were there yourself…" I muttered, earning another quick glance from the young tour guide. He looked as though he were about to speak but stopped, resigning himself to another small grin.

"Too many old movies, I guess." He chuckled. "Like I said, I'm kind of a history nerd. You could say I've lived through a lot of different time periods."

"Is that right?" I couldn't help sounding a bit skeptical. "Well, I suppose there's nothing wrong with being able to enjoy history. Lord knows I enjoyed mine, but as they say there's no time like the present. I wouldn't give up my little girls for anything." I smiled at the thought of them. I could tell he was looking at me, but I felt little need to look back. "You'll understand when you've got a family of your own someday."

"I-" He cut himself short. For a moment I thought he had gotten distracted by something else, but when I looked over I caught him looking away, struggling to keep up a smile. "Heh… yeah, you know, maybe someday." I paused for a moment, then, much to his surprise, laughed. "Is uh, something funny?"

"No, no, nothing." I muttered, turning to face the exhibit again. "You just reminded me of someone I used to know back in the day." I smiled to myself, looking in at the display case behind me. "Say, young man, did I ever catch your name?"

"I… it's…" He fumbled with his words for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I guess you didn't" He managed to affix his face with a plastic grin, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes; he had shut down already, the glimmer of hope in his eyes having died out as he looked me over again. "It was-"

"Dad!" I turned, looking to see who was shouting. "Dad, we talked about this. If you're going to wander off, you need to at least text us so we know where you are."

"Why? You obviously know where to look already if you checked here first." I chuckled. "Anne-Marie, you worry too much."

"I'm Susan, dad. See, this is exactly why we can't have you running off!" She sighed, glancing around the exhibit room. "Were you talking to someone, dad?"

"Ah…" I stopped to glance around, having forgotten myself. As far as I could see the room was empty, and quiet save for the faraway 'ding' of the elevator down the hall. "No, I suppose I wasn't."

"I could have sworn I heard voices in here." She frowned, peering around the nearest wall. "Huh… whatever, it's not important. You promised Rebekkah you'd show her Stubby when we made it up here. She's intent on hearing it from you, you know."

"What, that old dog? I could tell her stories a million times better than that from my own life. I remember back in '44, they sent us into France to recover a lost paratrooper who-"

"Dad, no, that's the plot of 'Saving Private Ryan.'"

"What?"

"You were in the marines, remember?"

"Oh, yes, that's right…" I frowned, following her to the elevator. "They did a good job on that movie, all the attention to detail-"

"I know, dad, I know. We all know how realistic you think 'Saving Private Ryan' is." she muttered, leading me into the elevator. I must have looked absolutely stricken at that, because the next time she looked at me her eyes softened with guilt. "I'm sorry, dad, I didn't mean to snap at you. Just stay with the group, okay?"

"Yes, Susan, I know." I smiled to make her feel better, watching the numbers above the elevator door go down as we began our descent. I couldn't expect her to understand, I doubt anyone who hadn't seen it with their own eyes could ever really know why it made me so happy. In truth, I was probably the only one in the whole building who knew what it was like to really be there.

(Wow, I did not expect this to take as long as it did. o_e I don't know how this turned into the longest chapter of this story, but believe it or not I've been working on this almost since I finished the last bonus chapter almost a year ago. Not gonna lie: I spent most of the time procrastinating, and I am sorry.

On the bright side, it's finally complete! :D It took a LOT of extra research, but I thought it would be interesting to give a more human perspective on Alfred's life before the events of the main story. I had a lot of ideas about what would and wouldn't work well, what might be interesting, but overall I think I'm happy with the way this turned out. I can safely say that this will be the final chapter of Anonymity, and that I'll probably be trying to put up more one-off stories. Of course, that's what I told myself when I started this story too, so who knows?

I hope you enjoyed this, it was a lot of fun to write and I'd really love to hear any feedback you might have! It's always encouraging to hear from you guys. If any of you are interested in seeing more of my work outside of [and possibly including] my writing you can check out my new art blog at hedgeyart. t*mbl r. It would be a real treat to hear from some of you or even just to see some new faces, and I do post some Hetalia stuff on there from time to time, in case any of you are interested in that. I hope I can expect to see some of you whenever my next piece goes up. Otherwise, thank you again for reading Anonymity!)