(no subject)

[and_far_away]

Sharpe didn't mean to sleep in the bar, but a long day's work on the farm followed by a security shift catches up with a man, and he's fast asleep in a corner booth, undisturbed.

In his dreams, he's in an inn he'll never drink at again in reality, looking around the empty room. He has a feeling he's waiting for someone, but...

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[chosen-npcs.livejournal.com]

Or is it empty? Maybe it was, but with the inconstancy of dreams, Hagman's always been there now.

"Major," he says, nodding, with a brief twitch of his lips that might have been a smile.

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He gets a broad grin and Sharpe strides over to his table, unsurprised but so, so pleased to see him.

"Sergeant", is the amused response. "Wondered if you'd be coming along again."

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Hagman lifts his glass. "Ah, someone's got to keep an eye on you, Major. Drink, sir?"

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"Won't say no to that, Dan", he says, dropping into a chair. "What're you having?"

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"Y'never would, as I recall. Ah, the ladies here do a lovely ale. T'would be dishonourin' em not to sample it, sir."

A hundred times they might have sat so, or none.

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Sharpe laughs. "And we can't have the ladies dishonoured, can we? Ale it is."

And there is ale. And if there's one thing different about all the other times they drank together... well, he's not ready to bring that up just yet. Not when it might just end the dream to do so.

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Hagman settles in his chair, at ease and at peace, and sets his mug down gently.

"How're you keeping, then, sir?"

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"Well as I've ever been", Sharpe tells him honestly, raising his own mug - where did it come from, with no barmaids in sight? That's dream logic for you. "Out of the army and settling down."

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An eyebrow twitches, and Hagman hides a grin in his mug. "Out of the army, sir? And where's that leavin' you, with nothing to do but settle?"

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Sharpe's known this man for almost ten years, and knows perfectly well what expression he's hiding in that ale. He chuckles.

"With a woman, Dan, as you know very well. And children."

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"Children!" Hagman's the picture of solemnity. "Ah, the poor bastards. How many of those, then, sir?"

Perhaps he's asking how long have I been dead? - but perhaps he's not. It's hard to tell, in dreams.

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"It'll be two by the end of the year. One boy, just over a year old, and then the baby to come."

Lucille was already pregnant with little Patrick when Hagman died.

Hagman knows about Antonia, of course, the child who's growing up with her uncle somewhere in Spain, but they don't talk about her.

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They don't.

"Good health to them," Hagman says, genuine now. "To you and all o' yours, sir." Another lift of his mug.

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Sharpe raises his mug in silent acknowledgment of that, and there's a few moments' comfortable quiet.

But after that, some things can't go unaddressed forever.

"Been back to Yorkshire, not long ago."

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"Indeed, sir?"

Their drinks are not turning into sows' teeth or exploding; there's no reason for Hagman to be taking suc a sudden interest in the foam on the lip of his mug.

"And did you enjoy it?"

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"Not sure enjoy's quite the right word", Sharpe says pensively. "It weren't terrible... but I were there to fulfil a promise or two. Deliver a letter... and pay someone a visit."

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"And who would you be visitin', in Yorkshire?" Hagman enquires, glancing up. "I hope - all's well there?"

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"Old friend o' mine", Sharpe says, looking at him directly. "And the wife of another. Name of Sally. And... aye, all's as well as it could be, though she misses her man."

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Hagman nods, and a handful of emotions flicker across the worn face. The pause is a little long for his next words to come out entirely casual, but then, that's hardly unexpected.

"Never known a woman not to. Fool girl, takin' up wi' a Chosen Man, anyway... You're lookin' after her, Major?"

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"Always will, Dan", comes the quiet answer. For her and for you. "Got the strings pulled so she draws a Sergeant's pension."

It's not much, but it's the best he can do. Better that than if she'd been a Private's widow, anyway.

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Hagman sits a little easier.

"Tis good of you."

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"Least I can do."

Hagman was one of his, even if he couldn't save him in the end.

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The quiet lasts a little. Then Hagman smiles, and instead of speaking sings, tired voice strong and sure.

"...as many comrades did before, ask the pipes and drums to play ..."

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It takes barely a second before Sharpe picks up the tune. His friend has the better voice of the two of them, always did, but he joins in softly anyway.

"...over the hills and far away..."

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"O'er the hills and o'er the main, through Flanders, Portugal and Spain..."

They might be anywhere, anytime, drinking and singing the way they'll never do again.

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Except that the ale in their mugs never needs refilling the way it should, and the edges of the dream are starting to blur. The colours are fading.

"King George commands and we obey, over the hills and far away..."

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Hagman stops singing, although the tune doesn't cease, and looks directly at Sharpe through the fading light.

"There's hard times ahead again. Look you sharp, sir."

And there; it's all gone.

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He's alone, with just the tune drifting through the air for company.

But it wouldn't be the first time.

It's not very long after that before he wakes. And he goes home.