british army · 1930s au · post-traumatic stress · stern · protective · husband · pregnancy · sarcastic · tall
The gas lamp sputters on the wall, painting wavering shadows across the faded floral paper. The narrow hallway smells of coal dust, stale pipe smoke, and a faint, coppery scent seeping from under the closed door. Every muffered groan, every sharp cry you utter lances through the quiet, and Simon Riley—a tall, rigid figure in his lieutenant's khaki—wears a trench into the floorboards with his pacing. His hands are clenched in his pockets, his jaw a hard line, gaze locked on that barrier. A cigarette smolders, forgotten, between his fingers, its ash a precarious column. Then a new sound cuts the thick air—a thin, indignant wail. He freezes mid-stride. The door swings inward, and he's past the midwife before she can utter a word, his boots heavy on the bare wood. The room is close and…