.

"Trois."

"Three"

Newkirk was getting antsy: twisting the straw from the floor beneath them into stubby little braids, counting the seconds between the thunder and the lightening strikes, starting to stand up before he realised again that there wasn't enough space.

LeBeau had to work harder to keep him talking.

"So there is more than just Mavis: Owen, Harry and Rick, and 'Bunny'. But that's only five. Are you giving up so soon, Pierre?"

Newkirk frowned. "Fine. After Bunny there comes Inez, Peggy and Wilbur."

LeBeau sniggered, "You English have such odd names."

"Says the man 'oo's last name means 'pretty man'."

"Handsome!" LeBeau insisted. "It means 'handsome one'."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, mate. Anyways," Newkirk held up a hand to cut off any further protest. "Da got out o' the clink not long after we lost Bunny. We had hoped things would be easier for a bit, but Da was real sick. Kept coughin' and his joints were all swollen: I didn't even recognize me own Da. Even his hair was grey. It turned out we were goin' to lose him too if we couldn't get better food for him. Vitamins and all that rot.

"So we took in Peggy and her little brother Wilbur. Peggy was two years younger than me, and she'd dropped out of school. She had a good job at a fancy hotel in town, but their folks were both dead, so Mum looked after Wilbur, and Peggy brought home her wages. Another gal from the same hotel gave us her little girl Inez, 'oo was the same age as Mavis, and we looked after her too, while her mum sent us a bit o' money."

LeBeau shook his head. "Must have been a full house. So there was your Mother and Father, you and Mavis, Owen and three more?"

"Well, actually I took off for a bit when me Da first came home. Or maybe he threw me out, I'm not really sure. With Owen just back on the weekends, I'd been the man 'o the house for so long. It took us a long time to adjust to each other."

Newkirk looked at his friend seriously. "But I did send money home. Even when I was just muckin' about."

"What's up, Peg?" Peter paused to wink at his sister's co-worker as she passed through the coat-room. He made sure to keep his muddy boots on the other side of the doorstep, leaning as far into the building as he could without falling over. Last time he'd walked his sister to work, the head housekeeper had threatened to call the footmen if he brought his dirty self into the back of the hotel again.

The other maid, her name was Sue, or maybe Sarah, blushed, and took her time leaving the room. When Peter returned his attention to his sister, she was scowling.

Peggy directed an arched brow at him, her fingers busy with the apron strings behind her back. "I got something to ask you, Pete, but I don't want to know the answer, and I sure don't want to talk about it afterwards."

"What?"

"Gillian Ham wants to know if you'll take her to the new picture on Friday."

A sly grin spread across Peter's face. "Gillian what wears the blue coat with that big… thing at the neck?"

"It's a broach, Pete."

"Looks like an onion."

"She made it herself."

Peter shrugged. "I don't mind. It don't smell like an onion."

She rolled her eyes, a bad habit that Peter found fascinating in his relatively new sister. Having lived fourteen years without him, Peggy had initially chafed under Peter's overprotective watch. But seeing his stubborn loyalty to his friends and family had eventually won her over and now her sharp wit was rarely directed at him with any real ill intent. If anything, they'd grown closer than the rest of the pack of 'Newkirks', bonding over their constant struggle to keep the rest of the family housed and fed.

"Just talk to her, and don't involve me any more."

Peter nodded, turning to go.

"Have you spoken to Harry, recently?"

Peter's shoulders slumped. After years of running side by side, Harry's path seemed to be sharply dividing from his own. "You know I 'aven't."

"He told me to tell you Adams has a spot open for you, if want to join 'em."

Green eyes flashing with hurt, Peter opened his mouth to respond, and then stopped when he saw his sister's face.

Peggy's expression was serious. "I know why you're keeping away from Adams and his lot. Harry might not understand the consequences of what they do, but eventually it has to catch up with them. Somebody'll end up in jail. Maybe we'll get Harry back at that point, maybe we won't. But I know we'll still have you. It doesn't matter if you bring home pittance, Pete. We can rely on you, and that's more important."

"I do what I can, Peg." He couldn't quite look her in the eye as he said it. It never felt like he did enough.

But she smiled anyways. "I know you do. Now get off with you. I need to work."

Peter nodded, and gave her a brave smile. He waited for her to turn all the way around before he slipped the daisy from between his fingers and reached out, quick as a wink, to drop it into her hair. He'd once managed to get a sock on the top of her knot of brown curls, where it stayed for a full half hour before she noticed it. But Peter did have some sense of self-preservation, and he stuck to flowers and feathers outside of her flat.

Louis cocked an eyebrow in amusement, watching from just outside the doorway. At sixteen, Peter had finally passed him in height, but he hadn't grown into his body, looking awkwardly stretched and missing any width to his shoulders. He was too thin. Louis wanted to take him across the channel and feed him a dozen of the different concoctions his father was probably whipping up at this very moment.

But he shook off the urge. Life didn't work that way.

"So Peggy…"

Peter glanced over at him as he strode out onto the packed street. "What about her?"

"Is she still single?"

Peter tripped over his own foot. "Louis!"

He shrugged, "I can appreciate beauty, even if it's masquerading as a Newkirk."

"I think that was an insult, and even if it's not, I'm ruddy insulted!"

"Do you really think I don't notice when you change subjects like that?"

Peter scowled. "Have I ever told you 'ow annoying you are?"

"Just look me, and not the water."

"I'm not afraid of water," Newkirk snapped. LeBeau had gotten half-way out onto the fallen tree before Newkirk had agreed to move on his own, seeing how much pain his friend was in whenever his shoulder shifted.

"Fine, fine." LeBeau held up a hand, disarmingly. "Just keep crawling."

He turned around, himself, and started shuffling back towards the land. It wasn't easy to balance with one arm tucked away.

"Are you still coming?" he called back.

Newkirk swore at him in reply.

Smiling to himself, LeBeau slid off the end of the tree trunk, and steadied himself on a large rock. They were sort of laid out like stepping stones. Hopping from one to the next, he reached the shore, and then looked back to see Newkirk on the first rock, hugging it like he was afraid gravity might suddenly change direction on him.

"Très bien. Now you just have a few more feet to go."

"Actually, he can stay right there." A voice came from the top of the bank behind him, speaking in perfect English.

LeBeau froze.

"I've got a gun pointed at the back of your head, so I'd like you to put your hands where I can see them, and step to the side. I have unfinished business with Mr. Newkirk."

"Deux."

"Two"

"So Harry ought to be old enough. Is he in the RAF? I have never heard you mention him."

"No." Newkirk shook his head, staring at something far beyond the shed walls. "He tried to enlist, but he walks with a bad limp now, can't run at all. They wouldn't take him."

"A limp?"

"There was an accident. I think I'd just turned seventeen, and he was still sixteen."

Peter had found work on the other side of town, helping a retired circus performer with a regular act in a small club. He found he liked the work. They might step widely around him when they heard his accent on the street, but people seemed willing enough to laugh at him onstage. Mr. Sachar had even offered to recommend him for an act of his own, the next time he heard of an opportunity.

"Hey, Newkirk! Two of your sisters are out front, asking for you."

Peter dropped the costume he'd been mending, and jumped to his feet, his green eyes wide with alarm.

"Is that unusual?" Louis asked, as Peter pushed past him in the narrow hallway.

"Yes. They'll have used all today's grocery money just on the bus fare." Peter led him through a maze of winding halls before they spilled out onto a busy street, much wider than the ones back in Stepney, with the buildings stretching up higher as well.

"Peter!" A blur of orange struck Peter straight in the chest. He stumbled back a step, wrapping his arms around the crying figure. It was a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, wearing the thick sweater Peter had been wearing the year before. Louis stepped to the side, seeing that Peggy was also there, wrapped in a faded blue coat. She looked even more serious than usual.

"Pegs? What 'appened?"

"It's Harry. There's been an accident."

Peter stiffened, running a hand through the wispy red hair tucked against his chest. "Is 'e…"

"He's alive. Adams set up a big job helping Rigby Cooper rob a bank."

"A bank!"

She nodded, biting her lip. "Something went wrong, and Cooper turned on 'em. Took the get away car, and ran over Harry in process. It's bad. They're not sure if they'll be able to save 'is leg."

"When did this 'appen?"

"Not an hour ago. Reece from the fish shop offered to drive us here."

She gestured at the street, and Louis spotted a small lorry parked half a block away.

Peter nodded, and gripped the smaller child by the shoulders, carefully pulling her back. "Inez? You found me. Everything'll be alright now. Right, ducky? No need to cry."

Inez's skin was blotched with red, her eyes and nose wet with tears and mucus. Louis dug a handkerchief from his back pocket and passed it to Peter, who passed it on to Inez before looking at Louis with a frown. "How?"

Louis shrugged.

They followed Peggy back to the lorry. The tiny cab was open to the back of the van, and Peggy climbed into the front, at Peter's insistence. Peter tucked Inez under one arm, and Louis sat on her other side, bouncing as the vehicle moved.

Inez said nothing as Louis watched her curiously. Her skin was so pale he could see the blue veins at her temples if he looked close enough. The fine hair on her head was nothing like the colour of ginger. It was closer in colour to orange sorbet. Her eyebrows and lashes were even lighter in colour, almost invisible when they weren't catching the light.

"She's quiet," Louis said softly.

Peter nodded, staring at the opposite wall intently. "Always. Makin' up for the rest of the family, I suppose… Peggy? Where are the others?"

"We couldn't get in touch with Owen. Your Mum went out lookin' for your father again, but hasn't found 'im yet. Mavis is lookin' after the others."

"What about Grandmum?"

Peggy twisted in the front seat to give them a grimace. She looked like she was trying hard to hold back tears. "It's a bad day. She's can't tell up from down. If we're lucky, Mavis will be able to convince her just to go to bed. I don't know how we're going to manage this, Pete."

"You said he survives, though," LeBeau interrupted.

Newkirk hummed in agreement, shifting to stretch out his legs on the shed floor. He started tapping his fingers against one leg. "It were close. Really, bloody close. Didn't know it was possible to feel that scared for so long. And to know there were going to be all those bills, and a missing income. We'd barely been scraping by as it were. And then after they saved him I weren't scared any more. I were just so, bloody, angry. Stupid angry…"

It was dark out now, and Louis could smell the sour brackish scent of the Thames. They were back in Stepney, closer to the water than he'd been before. The buildings were closely packed as ever, but these appeared to be warehouses instead of housing.

"Where are we going?" he whispered.

Peter had his cap pulled low on his head, his green eyes angry and his fists clenched. "We're going to find Adams. I trusted him with me brother. Nobody works with Rigby Cooper, if they don't want their head bashed in. Cooper hurts people for fun. Adams knows better, and his greed almost got me brother killed!"

Louis wrapped his arms around himself. "Are you sure this a good idea? Is it even safe to be out here this late?"

Peter turned to give him a look. He was barely seventeen and already his eyes were lined with permanent shadows, pinched around the edges with strain. He looked tired and worn. "It's never safe 'ere. Never safe anywhere."

A lane to their right cut away into deeper darkness, and Peter pulled him in that direction. "But it's fine. Adams' been a friend since I were a kid. He wouldn't hurt me. Come on, Adams lives at the end 'o this street."

Louis followed closely behind his friend, almost blind in the darkness. But there were noises coming from further ahead, and when they rounded a rubbish bin he realised it was two voices. The raised voices of two men fighting.

Peter froze.

"Who is that?" Louis whispered.

"Cooper?" The reply was barely audible. Peter's eyes were big as saucers. He was obviously terrified of the surprisingly small man in the bowler hat. The other man Louis supposed was Adams. He looked quite a lot like an older version of Harry, actually, in shape and colouring, at least.

Peter took two steps forward.

Did he think he was going to somehow help his friend?

Then there was a flash of metal in the moonlight, and Louis realised someone had drawn a gun.

Bang!

Cooper dropped to the ground.

Louis flinched away from the blood. He closed his eyes, but could still hear Peter's heavy breathing in the near silence.

"Newkirk?" Adams sounded shaken. "What are you doing here? When did you-"

There was a scrape of leather shoes on cobblestone, and Louis clutched his friend's sweater, taking a step along with him.

"You killed 'im."

"Damn it! I didn't want, I, I'm… sorry." Adam finished off the apology abruptly, like he'd come to a sudden decision.

Another scrape of leather, and Peter jerked backwards.

Louis's eyes snapped open. Adams had the younger man by the front of his shirt. He pushed him hard, forcing Louis to jump out of the way, and Peter to slam into the alley wall.

"What-"

He pressed one hand firmly over Peter's mouth, pinning him with his whole weight against the wall. With his other hand, he pulled out a knife.

Louis had his fists up in the air, clenched so tight it felt like the bones would pop out of their sockets, but he couldn't do anything, because he wasn't really there.

Eyes blown wide, Peter was fighting back as hard as he could, but Adams had a decade of weight and experience over him.

"Peter!"

The voice was far away, out on the main street somewhere. But it was enough. Adams was distracted for a moment and Peter kneed him hard. The older man stumbled back with a howl, and Peter hit him again, going for all the joints and soft parts they always told you were out of bounds.

"Come on!" Louis screeched.

Peter took a deep breath and ran. He scrambled around the corner onto the street, spinning around till he saw a smaller figure ahead in the fog. It was his younger brother Wilbur.

"Peter?"

He grabbed his brother's sleeve as he passed him, pulling him into a run.

"Quiet, Willy," Peter gasped, his voice rough. "We need to get out of here."

"What 'appened? I was lookin' everywhere for you."

"Nothing. Nothing 'appened. We just need to leave."

"Pierre! Wait up!"

Wilbur froze in place and Peter spun to face Louis. His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. "What do you want?"

"Are you okay?"

"No!" Peter's voice cracked, and he seemed halfway between screaming and crying. "That's the last time I'll trust anyone outside me family."

"But-"

"Never! You can't trust anyone. Just… no."

Peter backed away, tucking himself close to Wilbur like the small child offered some source of protection.

Louis raised his hands in surrender, giving him space to retreat.

The fog was thick, mixing with the darkness and blur of the streetlamps, and Louis watched the brothers run the length of the street until it swallowed them entirely.

Outside, the rain had finally died down.

It seemed like time had stopped while they waited in the barn, focused on a past more colourful and real than the featureless dark around them, but when LeBeau looked down at his watch he saw that three hours had already passed. Morning was only a couple hours away. Morning roll call came with it, but between them and the safety of Stalag 13 was Captain Bradshaw.

Captain Bradshaw who wanted to shoot his friend.

LeBeau sat back, trying to process all that he had learnt. Newkirk's knee had stopped bouncing up and down, and he had progressed to a full body wiggle. Sighing, LeBeau pressed himself to the side as Newkirk squished by him to kneel at the entrance to the shed.

Wait a minute. "Newkirk. That's eight. You said you had nine siblings before."

Newkirk looked back at him over his shoulder. "It's not half as bad out. I think we better make a run for it while the weathers as good as it is."

"You didn't answer me."

"We don't have time for that, LeBeau. We've got a mission to complete."

"Did someone else die?"

"What?"

LeBeau followed him out. "You don't want to tell me who your ninth sibling is. Did they die?"

"I wasn't-"

LeBeau did a double-take. Newkirk actually appeared to be blushing.

"Nobody else died, LeBeau. Never mind about that."

"Un."

"One"

"Don't turn around. Show me your hands."

Newkirk was still stuck to his rock, mouth hanging open uselessly.

LeBeau held his one arm out to the side. "I wrenched my shoulder. I can't move the other arm. But if you think you can shoot Newkirk and skip away unidentified, then you're wrong. I know who you are, Adams."

He turned around slowly.

The man at the top of the river bank was tall and blond, mildly handsome at the same time that he was forgettable. Even with a gun in his hand he looked more awkward than villainous. Right now, he also looked befuddled. "I don't know you. Why do you know my name?"

"Because I know Newkirk."

"Adams?" Newkirk finally spoke, sliding forward to balance on one of the flatter rocks.

Adams tore his eyes away from LeBeau to focus on Newkirk again. They were too close to each other for him to shoot over the Frenchman, even though he was standing on higher ground.

LeBeau growled. "You are not Bradshaw."

The other man tightened his grip on his gun. "I am Captain Bradshaw. At least, I have been, for several years now. It's been an awful long time since anyone called me Adams."

Despite the gun pointed at them, Newkirk actually looked relieved. "You still look so much like Harry."

Bradshaw frowned. "I didn't expect to see you here, Newkirk. It's been almost a decade."

The longer he spoke, the more his accent seemed to shift. LeBeau could hear his 'H's start to soften. "The first time I heard your voice on the radio I thought I was hallucinating."

"You were the one who taught me to do impressions."

Nodding slowly, Bradshaw took a couple steps to the left, trying to get around the Frenchman.

"You want to shoot him, you're going to have to go through me too."

"I don't want to shoot you, but I will. This is too important."

Newkirk steadied himself on the larger rock, still too far out in the stream to move quickly. "Adams. I won't tell anybody. I've never told anybody. Just leave us alone. Let us both go."

"I don't believe you. I know the Newkirks. You'd never forgive me for what happened to Harry."

There was silence for a moment, and LeBeau glanced over his shoulder to see Newkirk's face scrunched up in confusion. "Harry? Why are you going on about Harry?"

"I know you blame me for his death."

Here, LeBeau had to cut in. "Newkirk, you told me Rebecca was the only one of your siblings who died."

"She is. Harry's not dead. Are you talking about the accident with the motorcar? He's got a limp now, but it sure didn't kill him. In fact, it's probably the only reason he's not out here in the war, getting shot at. I count that accident as a lucky streak. It broke 'im away from you, at least."

Adams had lowered his gun, staring at them with a stunned expression.

"He's not dead."

"No."

Looking at Newkirk, and then the weapon in his hand, the older man seemed to be having trouble processing the information. "But I thought, I… Cooper maybe I could get away with, but I knew for sure you'd turn me in for Harry. You wouldn't have kept quiet."

Newkirk had been slowly creeping closer to the shore, and as soon as LeBeau sensed him come up behind him he felt brave enough to ask.

"Does this mean you're not going to kill us?"

Adams' eyes were not entirely focussed on them. "I didn't want to, but I was sure Newkirk would want revenge, and what I'm doing here is so important."

"With the German underground?"

"Yes. I realised you were working with Papa Bear, and I thought if I just made sure we didn't cross paths, then everything would be fine. But then they set up this meet, and I knew you would recognise me. My past would come out. Everything ruined in a moment."

"How would shooting Newkirk fix anything?" LeBeau demanded.

"One soldier, for all my years of spying? I think the Allies would accept the trade-off. Captain Bradshaw has a clean and respectable record. Maybe Newkirk was a traitor. Maybe it was friendly fire. I didn't think I had chance of convincing him to let me go. I was wrong. Maybe I was wrong about everything."

Newkirk edged to the side, staring at Bradshaw warily. "Are you going to put the gun down?"

Bradshaw un-cocked the gun and dropped it to the ground. Mud splattered up across his ankles.

LeBeau let out a sigh of relief, and glanced over at Newkirk, who was still sticking close to his shoulder.

"You tried to kill me."

"I did, and I'm sorry. You were just a kid. It wasn't your fault. I'd never realised how selfish I was, before that night." He looked away, unable to meet Newkirk's eyes. "I'm trying to make up for that, now."

Newkirk said nothing, so LeBeau took the initiative and trudged up the slope of the river bank, stopping to pick up Bradshaw's gun along the way. He stuck it in the belt of his pants with his one free hand. "Forgive me if I don't trust you with this."

Adams just nodded. He was soaked to the skin, much like them, and now tired and confused. "Now what? The military doesn't know anything about my past, my name, that I'm wanted for murder..."

"Nobody in the East End was calling it murder, Adams," Newkirk said slowly. "Other than the coppers, at least. I think people were mostly relieved Cooper was gone."

"And you?" Adams looked down at Newkirk. "What do you think?"

Newkirk brushed off his hands and climbed up the incline. When he got to the top, he stopped a few steps from Adams. "I don't think about you. Not anymore. You took a lot away from my family, from me, but we survived, and we're all the stronger for it. So, go off back to your spying and stay Captain Bradshaw. We don't care."

He pulled a sodden envelope out of the inner pocket of his jacket, and tossed it at Adams' feet. Then he tugged at LeBeau's sleeve, and turned them away from the river. "There's your blasted codes. Morning's coming, and we're going 'ome."

Adams didn't seem to know how to respond, and they'd walked several paces away before he called out. "Wait!"

Brow furrowed, Adams gestured at LeBeau. "I don't understand. If he knows who I am, then he knows who you are. He doesn't mind a criminal working for the Allies?"

Sticking out his bottom lip, LeBeau shrugged. "There are so, so many ways to describe my friend, and out of all of them you would choose to call him a criminal? That's bad judgment on your part, not mine."

They walked away.

The sky was growing paler in the distance, the edge of darkness fleeing back across the sky before the onset of dawn.

LeBeau wiggled in his jacket, trying to find a comfortable position for his shoulder.

"You alright?" Newkirk asked.

"No. It hurts," LeBeau whined. "It will probably be swollen as big as a football by morning."

"I did tell you to cut off your stupid buttons, and look where they got you."

"Here?" LeBeau glanced around at the clear sky, and the shattered branches and remnants of the storm's destruction about them.

"Yeah. Here, I guess."

"Hmm."

LeBeau waited a few more minutes before he broke the quiet. "So. Owen, Mavis Harry and Rick, Bunny, Peggy, Inez and Wilbur. That's still only eight, Newkirk."

Newkirk stopped. "Really? You're still going on about that?"

"Well you never finished your story."

"It is finished, alright? We're all done, and we're heading home."

"We can't be done until I know who's number nine! That makes no sense."

"I don't care if it makes no sense. That's the end."

He tried to keep walking, but LeBeau stepped into his path, planting his feet wide. "No. It is cruel and unusual punishment to tell me that much and then stop. You must tell me."

Newkirk had flushed a deep pink. "Carter put me on the spot, and I wasn't really thinking. How was I to know he'd tell you what I said?"

"Why are you so worked up about this? It's a simple question."

"You! Alright? I was counting you as number nine."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

LeBeau pressed his lips together. "I have never had a real brother."

Newkirk stepped around him. "Fine. I'm not your real brother, anyways."

"Hey! I didn't say I disagreed with you."

"You don't?"

"No. No, I don't think I do."

Fin

The End