PLOUGHSHARES

Part 2:

by Moviegirl

They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more -- Isaiah ii.4

A Light Through the Fog

Danny French stared blankly at the restraint that held him fast to the bedrail by one wrist, and didn't turn when Lachlan and Bridget entered his room. "Danny, it's Lachlan," Lachlan said quietly. "Fancy a coupla visitors?"

After a long minute, he slowly turned his head to face them, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. "Go 'way," he slurred.

Alarmed, Lachlan looked to Bridget. "He must be on Thorazine," she whispered. "It'll be like talking to him through a wall, luv."

"That the girl?" Danny asked, much to Bridget's surprise.

"What?" Lachlan said, struggling to understand his friend.

"The girl," Danny repeated, lolling his head slightly in Bridget's direction. "The one…saved you."

Bridget blushed slightly as Lachlan smiled and said, "Yeah, mate, the very same. Danny, this is Bridget Stanley. Bridge, this is Danny French. Sorry you're meeting under these circumstances."

"G'Day, Danny," Bridget said, gently touching his arm, which was swathed in bandages and bound to his chest, immobilizing his shoulder. He flinched away, and Bridget remembered being told that in the scuffle that injured Lachlan, Danny had been shot in the shoulder. "I'm sorry, did that hurt you?"

Danny shook his head mutely, his head lowered. "Sorry," he mumbled. He raised his head and looked pleadingly at Lachlan. "Gonna take me outside," he said. "Finish me off this time."

"No, mate, you're safe here," Lachlan reassured him. "You're home, Danny. This isn't the camp. Remember? I'm Lachlan. I was in Europe during the war, mate. You're home in Australia."

Danny squinted for a second and shook his head slowly. "It's all bollocks'd up in there," he said sadly.

Bridget picked up a hand towel from the nightstand and wiped a small trickle of saliva from Danny's chin. Her heart broke as she watched tears of shame well up in his dark eyes. "Here, now, it's all right," she soothed. "Everyone needs a spot of help now and again, eh?" She smiled at him encouragingly, but a tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. "You're a mate of my Lach's, so you're a mate of mine. And that's that. So we'll have none of this 'I'm-so-ashamed' nonsense, y'hear?"

Danny nodded. "Ta," he whispered as Bridget wiped the tear away. "Can't think…why's it all so jumbled?"

"You're on…" Lachlan grabbed Danny's chart from the bed's footboard, and, ignoring Bridget's slightly disapproving look, read it. "…yep, Bridge, you were right. Thorazine. Nasty stuff, that."

Bridget's eyebrow rose to its usual incredulous spot. "And you know this how?"

"Told you I'd gone a bit troppo when they were taking home on that plane, luv. They told me later they'd shot me up with that Thorazine stuff. I was seeing pink elephants with that stuff in me. Cure's worse than the disease, you ask me, Eh, Danny?"

Danny sank into the pillows as though his head was too heavy for his neck to hold. "I hate it. Rather be mad, to be honest." He suddenly looked slyly at Bridget. "That's…sanest thing I've said all day."

"Well, I'd call that a good sign," Lachlan said brightly. His face fell, however, when a police officer entered the room. "Ever heard of knocking, mate?" Lachlan snapped at him.

The officer calmly stood in the doorway, reached over with one hand, and knocked on the open door as Lachlan and Bridget both narrowed their eyes at him. "Daniel French?" he barked. Danny's head snapped around to face him. "You're being charged with criminal trespass, malicious damage, affray, and intent to do grievous bodily harm." When Danny just stared at him, the officer continued, "Son, do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Lachlan interjected, "He didn't want to hurt anyone. Far as I know, he hasn't hurt anyone. No serious injuries were reported, were there?"

"And you are…"

"Lachlan Curry. I'm a mate of Danny's."

"You're the fella that was with him." The officer looked at his notepad. "Right, you're in the clear, Mr. Curry, but I wouldn't be quite so free and easy with the police if I was you. If your brother hadn't…"

"His brother? What about Geordie?" Bridget asked.

"Mr. George Curry explained the circumstances surrounding your being with French here at the time of his arrest. Ask me, I'd lock the both of you up."

"What for?" Bridget snapped.

"Mr. Curry, did you or did you not have suspicions for some time that Daniel French was the Digger?"

Lachlan looked down at the floor. "I had a notion, but nothing concrete. That's why I was out there. I wanted to have a talk to him first, and if it was true, I…"

"You what?" The officer said.

"I dunno. I suppose I would've had to bring him in. But you can't throw him in jail, mate. You just can't do it," Lachlan pleaded.

"Doesn't seem likely they'd put him jail, judging by the looks of him. Bloke's gone in the head. Reckon they'll put him in the psychiatric ward in the prison."

"You can't!" Lachlan shouted. "He'll get no help at all in there!"

"He's in the room, y'know," Danny sighed. All eyes suddenly fell on him. "Do what you like. I've had it coming. I'm a traitor. Nothing but a traitor…" His eyes closed, and he turned his face away.

"Uh, officer?" Bridget said sweetly. "Would you mind having a chat outside for a moment?" The officer looked at her suspiciously, but nodded all the same. "Back in a tick, luv," she said, kissing Lachlan on the cheek.

As Bridget and the officer left the room, Lachlan laid a gentle hand on his friend's uninjured shoulder. "You just get some sleep, mate. I'm not gonna let them send you to prison. You've spent enough time in hell."

Doing What's Right…In a Way

He threw yet another crumpled piece of paper to the floor in disgust. Counting the paper balls on the floor, Geordie came to the conclusion that he'd written at least ten versions of his letter in the last half hour. Why was it so hard to write a simple letter?

Well, mate, he thought to himself, maybe it's because you don't have much practice doing the right thing. He laughed out loud. "Too bloody right!" he chuckled, and set pen to paper again. Before he began to write, however, he cast his eyes toward the envelope lying on the corner of the table. He reached for it, and pulled out the wad of cash inside.

Counting it for what must have been the tenth time, he wondered to himself at how dear some people hold certain lives. Geordie reckoned nobody'd give five quid for him, let alone the five thousand pounds that now passed through his fingers. But he had brought QPS to the Digger's doorstep, so the reward was his.

"Funny old world..." He laughed mirthlessly as he counted out a thousand pounds, stuffed it in his pocket, and put the rest back in the envelope. He laid a hand softly on the envelope one last time, then took up his pen again. Dear Lachlan, he began…

* * *

Night had fallen when Bridget and Lachlan got back to his room at the Service.

"Home, sweet home," Lachlan sighed as he dropped his small bag on the bed.

"Lach, do you want to come home with me tonight?" Bridget asked, standing behind him and slipping her arms around his waist.

He turned to face her, draping his arms causally over her shoulders. "Not very good company, I'm afraid," he replied.

"You're the only company I need, good, bad or otherwise," she smiled, kissing him for emphasis.

He held her close and deepened the kiss, filling it with need and sadness. "What would I do without you?" he whispered breathlessly, then covered her mouth again, his hands loosening the ribbon from her hair. Her strawberry blond curls fell about her shoulders, and Lachlan clutched a fistful of them with one hand as the other skimmed her leg from knee to thigh. "I couldn't survive," he continued, his lips trailing fire across her collar bone.

"You could," Bridget protested gently, pulling away long enough to unbutton the front of her dress. "But you'll never have to." Her breath caught in her throat when his hands slipped inside her dress and around her bare waist. "Body and soul, Lach," she said softly. "Body and soul, I'm yours."

"Bridge, is that door locked?" he suddenly asked as she removed his shirt and dropped it on the floor.

Arching an eyebrow, she looked down at her nearly naked self, and laughed. "Now, you're asking me that??"

Lachlan's eyes grew wide; he looked at the door, then at Bridget, and burst into laughter himself, as she drew him toward the bed.

Parting Shots and Windfalls

Bridget squinted into the morning sun coming through the small window in Lachlan's room. She hastily dressed, then stepped outside to find Lachlan sitting in a chair on the small porch. "Didn't hear you get up, luv. Good morning." When he didn't reply, she nudged him gently. "Good morning," she repeated.

"I can't believe it," Lachlan breathed, his eyes never leaving the piece of paper in his hand.

"Luv, what's wrong? What is it?" She crouched next to him.

Silently, Lachlan held up an overstuffed envelope he held in his other hand. Bridget gasped when she saw pound notes inside. "There's four thousand pounds in here, Bridge. Four thousand pounds."

"What….who….where'd it come from?"

He rubbed his eyes for a moment, then began to read:

Dear Lachlan….I give up. I'm tired of trying to be good, of trying to live up to you.

Even now, when I'm doing the right thing, I'm doing it for the wrong reason. There's four thousand quid in the envelope. I kept a thousand for myself, but the rest is all yours - our reward for capturing that lunatic friend of yours, the Digger. You deserve the money, because you figured it out. But I know you don't want it, and I'm sending it to you anyway. I know I'm being cruel. But you, little brother, don't know how cruel YOU have been, whether by design or no. Every good deed you've done, every noble sacrifice you've made, even your bloody war heroism, has only diminished me others' eyes. And for that, dear brother, I suppose I hate you a bit. Is it my fault that I don't know how to be a decent man? Is it my fault that I was born first? They expected me to be something I'm not, and that's not fair.

So, I'm leaving. I can't fight St. Lachlan anymore. Finally, I've gotten the guts to pick up stakes and go. You can have Cloncurry, with its dust, and heat, and small-minded locals. I'm off to someplace exciting. I'm going to a city, where I can blend in with all the other blokes who were born not knowing how to be good.

Do what you like with your money, Lach. I know there's one thing you could do, but I wonder if you'd do it with this particular bit of cash. Could you look at your purchase every day with guiltless eyes? I doubt it. But I'd give it a go.

Tell Mum and Dad it's not their fault. I suppose I could've tried harder, but why? Nothing I ever do will ever equal you. You're Lachlan Curry, War Hero. Enjoy your life, hero. Enjoy the money, if you can.

All my love, George

Lachlan tossed the letter on the small table next to him. "Bastard," he muttered, scouring his hands over his eyes.

"What the…I don't understand," Bridget said, shaking her head. "He's giving you the reward money just to make you miserable? That's sick."

"That's Geordie," Lachlan corrected.

"God, Lachlan, it's an awful lot of money," Bridget mused, her hand hovering over the envelope.

"You're not suggesting I keep it, are you?" His voice rose. "That's blood money, Bridget. I'll not have it." With one sweep of his hand, he knocked the envelope to the ground.

Bridget eyed him coolly. "Are you done?" Lachlan looked at her apologetically. "Don't give me that face," she snapped, but her face softened into a sympathetic smile. "Luv, I understand what you're saying. And I'm not suggesting you keep it and spend it on frivolous things. What do you think Geordie was talking about when he asked about your 'purchase'?"

Lachlan couldn't look Bridget in the eye. What was he supposed to say? Oh, he meant the insanely expensive engagement ring I wanted to buy you? "Dunno," was all he said aloud.

"You're lying. Geordie knew something, and now I want to know it." Bridget stood and crossed her arms stubbornly.

"It doesn't matter, Bridge. It's not going to happen anyway. Not with that money, at least."

Bridget studied his face for a long moment. It always amused her what a bad liar Lachlan was, but this time, whatever he wasn't telling her was obviously troubling him. "Lach, what could you possibly want to buy that costs that much money?" Disturbed by his silence, she thought for a minute, and her eyes misted with tears. "Lachlan, is it something for me?" she asked gently.

He shrugged and looked at the ground, which told her everything she needed to know. She took his hand in hers and sat on the ground next to him. "You daft little man," she said, a sad smile spreading across her face. "I don't need some big fancy bauble to make me say yes."

Stunned Lachlan finally looked at her. "What?"

"The only time I wouldn't say yes…" She got on her knees and kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear, "…is if you never asked me."

He turned his face toward her, and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "Stand up," he said firmly. She looked a little stunned, but did as he asked. "Righto," he nodded, standing up himself, then dropping to one knee. "Bridget Mary Catherine Stanley…I don't have a big fancy ring to give you, but you're my heart of gold. Will you marry me?"

She grinned and winked at him. "Fair dinkum, I will." Taking both his hands, she hauled him to his feet, and threw her arms around his neck and peppered his face with kisses. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" she giggled as he picked her up and spun her around in his arms.

Lachlan set her back down and drew her into a warm hug. "Love you," he said softly.

"Love you right back, mate," Bridget replied.

"Bridge, what am I gonna do with all that money? I don't want it, but…"

"Well," she said, drawing back slightly and ruffling his hair, "Do you have any ideas?"

"Yeah. Yeah, actually, I do. I just don't know how to go about it."

"Two heads are better than one, luv. Let me help. What's the idea?"

Precious Things

"Ah, Mr. Curry!" Mr. Walker exclaimed as Lachlan entered the store. Excusing himself from an elderly gentleman in front of the counter, he rushed over to where Lachlan stood. "It's so good to see you again! And congratulations on helping to capture - "

"Ta," Lachlan replied curtly, cutting him off. "G'day, Mr. Walker."

In a more subdued tone, Walker said, "Is everything all right, Mr. Curry?"

"Yeah, fine, thanks for asking."

"Not at all. Now, may I assume that you're here to purchase a certain something?"

"Well, actually…no."

Walker's face fell. "No?"

"It's a beauty of a ring, Mr. Walker, no lie. And it'd be even more beautiful on my girl's finger, but I can't," Lachlan answered.

"But I thought…"

Gently, but firmly, Lachlan interjected, "You thought wrong, Mr. Walker. I know the reward money's become quite the talk on the bush telegraph, but I won't use it for my own personal gain. I just…I couldn't sleep at night." He lowered his voice, sensing the older man, and many of the store patrons, were watching him now. "I'm really sorry. I know you must be disappointed. Feel like I'm costin' you a nice big sale."

Walker's face broke into a kindly smile. "Don't give it another thought, young man. I can't say I'd be as high-minded as yourself if that kind of money dropped into my lap, but I'm certainly not going to criticize you for it!"

"I appreciate you taking it so well," Lachlan said sheepishly. "I was actually nervous about coming here to tell you."

"You didn't even have to come all this way, Mr. Curry. You could've just rung me up. But it's very good of you to come in person." Walker extended his hand to Lachlan, who shook it warmly. "You're a fine young man, Mr. Curry. I hope that one day, if the occasion arises, you'll consider coming back to Marsh Jewelers. We'd be proud to serve you."

Lachlan grinned. "If I win the Irish Sweeps, maybe," he joked. "G'day, Mr. Walker." He gave Walker a small wave, and left the store.

The elderly gentleman made his way over to Walker. "Edgar, that was young Curry, wasn't it? The one who got the reward for the Digger?"

"Yes, it was, Mr. Marsh. Had a beautiful ring all picked out before all this happened, and now that he can actually afford it, he won't use it."

"Really?" Alexander Marsh folded his arms, deep in thought.

* * *

"It's a bonzer day, isn't it, Danny?" Bridget chirped as she pushed the wheelchair into the garden.

"Yeah," Danny replied sincerely. The sunlight on his face, the smell of fresh-cut grass, even the flies, were like tiny gifts to him. They almost made him forget he was handcuffed to the wheelchair. As they came to a stop by a small bench near a fountain, Bridget locked the wheels and sat down beside him. "Bridget, I don't know what you said to the doctors, but thanks."

She smiled and shrugged. "I didn't say much, really. But you sure look a lot better today."

"Well, yeah," he chuckled ruefully. "I'm not mumbling and droolin' all over meself. And like I said, that's thanks to you. Dunno how you convinced them to stop druggin' me up."

"My feminine wiles, dear," Bridget teased.

One corner of Danny's mouth twitched slightly in amusement. "Right," he replied. He looked over at Bridget, and noticed she was impatiently scanning the grounds as though looking for something. "Bridget? What are you up to, girl?"

"Me? I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, half paying attention. Finally, she saw what she was looking for. "Oh, good. Here comes your surprise."

"My what?" He looked into the distance, and could barely make out three figures coming toward them. He finally recognized one as Lachlan, but the other two were a mystery to him. "What's going on?"

"Don't worry, Danny. It's all right," Bridget said gently, her hand on his hair. "You'll see." She waved to Lachlan, who reached them with his two mysterious friends in tow. "Hello, luv," she said, giving him a kiss.

"G'day, beautiful. G'day, Danny," he said cheerfully.

Eyeing him nervously, Danny hesitantly replied, "G'day, Lach."

"Danny, this is Chief Inspector Liam Stanley of the QPS," he said gesturing toward the taller of the two strangers, "And this is Dr. Howard Mills. Gents, this Daniel French."

"How do you do, Dr. French," the man Lachlan introduced as Dr. Mills said. Danny's mouth nearly dropped open at the use of a title he hadn't heard in a very long time. "I understand you're a surgeon."

"I was," Danny replied, turning his cuffed hand over to show the scars on either side.

Mills scowled at the handcuffs. "Liam?" he said to the taller man.

"Indeed," Chief Inspector Stanley nodded, and drew a set of keys from his pocket. "Now, this may take a couple of minutes. Got quite a few keys here, and I'm not sure which will fit these cuffs - well, whaddya know! Got it in one!" he exclaimed as the cuffs opened and fell to the ground. At Danny's look of pure astonishment, he said, "Dr. French, as part of an agreement with Dr. Mills here, the charges against you have been lowered to one count of malicious damage, with a fine of one hundred pounds. Paid in full."

"I don't…" Danny looked over at Dr. Mills. "Who…"

"I'm a psychiatrist, Dr. French. I head the psychiatric unit at the Wesley Hospital in Cairns. I've been doing research into shellshock and stress in men returning from the war. Lachlan here rang me up and told me about you. Hope that's all right."

He had kind eyes, Danny noticed immediately. There didn't seem to be any kind of hidden agenda with this man, and if Lachlan had called him…"Yeah, I reckon. But I don't understand."

"It's part of the agreement, Danny," Lachlan finally said. "The C.I. here has agreed to release you into Dr. Mills' care. Wesley's a bonzer hospital, Danny. The best. And Doc Mills here, he's really breaking new ground treating fellas like us who did it tough in the war. Would you be willing to have a go?"

"I've heard of Wesley. It's private," was all Danny could say in his state of shock. "It's really dear."

"It's all taken care of," Lachlan added.

"And the fine?"

"Paid in full, like the man said," Lachlan smiled.

Tears welled in Danny's coal-dark eyes. "Lachlan," he could barely whisper, "Mate, what did you do?"

"Nothing I wouldn't hope a mate would do for me if I'd gotten that bad," was the reply, as Lachlan grasped Danny's arm warmly.

"It's a grand place," Bridget chimed in. "Lach and I had a look up there a couple of days ago. Looks more hotel than hospital! And the people there, Danny…they're really lovely. They'll take good care of you. Lach and I will come and visit if you like. It'd give us an excuse to drive up to Cairns and do some proper sunbathing!"

"I…I don't know what to say," Danny murmured, shaking his head.

"Nothing need be said, Dr. French. Just sign these commitment papers. During our interviews, you've demonstrated the ability to distinguish right from wrong. I trust there have been no incidents?"

Danny smiled ruefully. "If you mean, have I thought I was back in Burma since I got here? No."

"Very good. Therefore, you've been judged fit by the court to decide for yourself," C.I. Stanley said, offering the papers to Danny. "I've already signed them for my part. Your doctors here, as well."

Bridget took C.I. Stanley's arm and kissed his cheek. "Cheers, Uncle Liam."

He patted his niece's arm. "You're no criminal, Dr. French. But you do need help, and what you've done can't be ignored. This seems like a mutually satisfactory resolution to the situation.

Lachlan pulled a pen from his pocket and held it out to his friend. "Here ya go, mate."

Danny took it with shaking fingers. Clearing his throat, he said, "Where do I sign?"

Lucky, Lucky, Lucky

"Yeah, roger that. See you on the ground," Lachlan finished and switched off the radio. Another rescue of another hiker complete, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head to relieve the tension in his back. He smiled when he realized that only rarely did he recall that he experienced the occasional back trouble as a result of the many beatings he endured in the prison camp. When he did remember, it was almost as though it had happened to another person.

Since he had arranged for Danny's transfer to the psychiatric hospital in Cairns, it was as though some of his own torment had been relieved. He'd always known how fortunate he was that he had a loving family - Geordie notwithstanding - and of course, he knew how vital Bridget had been to his recovery upon his return. But seeing Danny's suffering, knowing that without that lifeline, Lachlan could very well have been in the same situation, made him appreciate his second chance at life even more.

"Lucky…"

"Excuse me?"

Startled, Lachlan turned toward the source of the voice. An elderly, well-dressed gentleman stood in the doorway of the dispatch office. He looked vaguely familiar to Lachlan, as though he'd seen him somewhere before.

"Mr. Curry?"

"Yeah, mate, that's me." Lachlan stood up and held out his hand. As the man shook it, he added, "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Alexander Marsh, Mr. Curry. I own Marsh's Jewelers, in Mount Isa."

"I know it well, sir. What brings you out here?" Lachlan gestured to Marsh to have a seat. "Can I get you a cuppa?"

"No, thank you. And what brings me out here, Lachlan - may I call you Lachlan?" Lachlan nodded. "What brings me here…is you."

Lachlan took his usual chair. "Me? Why? Something in the shop go missing? Wasn't me, mate," he joked.

Marsh smiled broadly. "No, no, nothing of the sort. I understand that you're engaged to be married."

Surprised, Lachlan replied, "Crikey, good news travels fast. Didn't think I'd make the gossip columns in Mt. Isa."

"Well, you are a bit of a local celebrity, if you don't mind my saying," Marsh offered, earning a shrug. "You're a fine role model for the young men of the area."

"Just livin' my life, mate."

"Still and all, I'd like to give you and your bride-to-be an engagement gift."

"What? Why? You don't have to do that, sir."

"Lachlan, humor an old man, please. My son…" Marsh took a deep breath. "My only son John was killed in Burma. I'd like to do this for you. Please." He drew a small ring box from his pocket. "Give this to your girl, Lachlan. May she wear it well, and I wish you all the happiness that life can offer."

Lachlan took the box and opened it. Inside, he found the exact ring he'd been looking at in the shop; platinum, with a large solitaire diamond in the center, surrounded by two smaller stones. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen...next to Bridget, of course.

"Mr. Marsh, this is too generous. I mean, I couldn't ever…"

"Repay me? Of course you could. Enjoy your life. Oh, I don't know, name one of your children after me." He grinned, and clapped Lachlan on the shoulder. "Must run. My driver gets very peevish when I leave him out in the sun too long."

Lachlan followed him to the door and shook his hand. "I can't thank you enough, Mr. Marsh. Bridge'll be over the moon."

"Then that's all the thanks I need, son. Take care."

Lachlan watched Marsh get into a large black sedan, after a bit of a tongue-lashing from the driver. He closed the door to the office, and sat back down at the desk, staring in disbelief at the ring in his hand. He whistled softly. "…lucky, lucky."

Happy Endings and New Beginnings

October, 1950

"All right, now, little man, no squirming for Uncle Danny, y'hear?"

"He giving you trouble, Dan?" Bridget called in from the kitchen.

"Nah, not a bit of it. We're old mates now," he smiled as Bridget came in and tickled her son's stomach as he wriggled in Danny's arms.

"Right," she said doubtfully. "Personally, I think he's upset that his mummy can't even come to his christening! Whoever thought of such a thing," she groused after kissing the top of the baby's head.

"It does seem a bit unfair, luv," Lachlan said, straightening his tie. "But look at it this way. You get a couple of hours of peace and quiet without me and our fella here around." He smiled as Danny held a finger out to the baby, who grasped it in his chubby fist. "Ah, you've got the touch, mate. He's mad for ya."

"Doubt it. I just have big hands. Makes him feel safe. Right, mate?" Danny jiggled his finger in the baby's hand, earning him something resembling a smile. "And that's what it's all about, eh?" He maneuvered the baby onto his shoulder, cradling his head completely with his hand.

Lachlan clapped him on the back. "Yeah, that's what it's all about," he said. It had been a long, painful haul, these last few years. But Danny's treatment at Wesley had been deemed successful a few months back, and he'd been released. Lachlan and Bridget were, of course, waiting for him when he walked out the doors of the hospital, and took him back to Cloncurry with them.

The Flying Doctor Service had offered him a job assisting the medics on call; it was still unsure whether he would ever be allowed to practice medicine again, but his knowledge was considered too good to waste, so Danny's days were spent advising the younger doctors, and dispensing aspirin and hangover cures to the pilots who'd perhaps spent a little too much time in the pub the night before. It wasn't exactly a practice, but it suited Danny just fine.

There were still days, of course. Danny knew they'd be with him for the rest of his life, those nights when he'd wake up in a cold sweat just as the hammer came down the first time on his hands in the prison yard, or those twilight dreams when he swore he could still hear Kelso's voice begging him for help, or the soft sigh of his last breath leaving his body. But those days were far fewer lately, and he found himself slightly amazed at his current situation - standing in Lachlan and Bridget Curry's front room, bouncing their firstborn in his arms and praying like any normal nervous godfather that young Daniel Alexander Curry wouldn't spit up on Uncle Danny's new suit.

"Amazing," he murmured to the tiny creature now sleeping against his shoulder. "So small."

"Yeah, well, that's usually how they come, Doc," Lachlan joked. "Ya read, God-daddy?"

"Been ready for quite a while, I think," he said with a grin.

"Not so fast, gentlemen," Bridget warned, picking up a bottle of champagne from the table. "Four hours since your meds?" she asked Danny, who nodded. "Good onya." She poured the champagne into three glasses as Danny put the baby down into the small bassinet by the sofa. Handing a glass to Lachlan, then to Danny, she held up her own and said, "To new life - or to two, I should say. The wee one over there, and this big one right here," she said, gesturing to Danny.

"To new beginnings," Lachlan added.

"And dear, dear friends," Danny finished.

"Family," Bridget corrected him.

"Righto," he smiled. "To family."

From 1942 to 1943, 13000 Australian POWs were transported to Burma and Thailand to work on the 420 kilometre Burma-Thailand Railway. Over 2,700 prisoners died.

- FIN -

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