A/N: A challenge to myself to write short things. Rated only for brief language. Hope you enjoy, and review if you so wish.

February, 1942.

Patience had barely been able to contain herself all day – Nanny Teresa had been so awfully testy with her. She'd been bouncing off the walls, as daddy would say. Today was the first time her and Nancy were to share a room, and she was so very excited for her younger sister to move out of the nursery. Mummy had said that Nancy could have her own room, and that they didn't have to share. But she knew that she had to be a good elder sister, and that the younger girl would be scared to sleep in a big bed in a room all alone. So she didn't mind one bit, just as long as Nancy didn't break any of her toys, which she'd been notorious for doing when she was a toddler. Even better, she'd been tasked with getting herself ready for bed.

She struggled with her nightie a little – Nanny would have to do the buttons, but she was proud of herself for getting most of the way there – and she knew her teeth would be inspected after brushing, but despite everything she felt awfully grown up.

She was just about to rinse her mouth when mummy walked in, such to her surprise that she left toothpaste all over her face. "Oh, sweetheart." Her mother smiled warmly, setting down Nancy on her brand new bed. "Come here, you silly thing." She plucked a hanky from her sleeve, and wiped her face, whilst Patience wrinkled her nose. "Not bad for your first try at being a big girl, I must say." She turned her around, doing up the buttons at the back of her neck.

"Where's Nanny Teresa?" She asked.

"I let her go to bed, Patience. I wanted to send you off to sleepy town tonight. It is such a big day after all." She smiled fondly at Nancy, who scampered over to Patsy's bed, clambering on it. "Now we must try to sleep in our own bed, Nancy." She scooped the four year old, and plonked her back down, who pouted a little, beginning to grow uneasy with the change, and wanting the comfort of her older sister.

"Are you going to read us a story, mummy?" Patience enquired.

"Not tonight. I have something to tell you." She seemed to aim it more at Patience, which spiked her interest, meaning it must be something too grown up for Nancy to understand. She stood up, drawing the nets across the windows to keep out the bugs, but leaving the blinds open for the breeze – it was a humid evening. "You know that daddy's in England at the moment working. Well, Patience, he isn't going to come back to Singapore – he can't. Instead, we're going to England, on a big boat."

She frowned. That wasn't what she'd been told. Daddy was supposed to come back in two weeks – she remembered – he was going to bring her treats from England, a country she'd only seen twice in her life, a far off place that seemed to have mystical qualities, where mummy and daddy had grown up in lovely big houses, where it rained all the time but not the warm sticky rain of Singapore, and even snowed sometimes! "But why?"

Mummy sighed. "Well, you see darling, lots of countries in the world right now are rather cross with one another. It's all very complicated I'm afraid, but you know how we all talk about Germany, and how cross Germany is with England, so they're having a most terrible fight about it?" Patience nodded. "Well, a country called Japan is rather cross with Singapore, so they're going to come here and show Singapore how cross they are and they're not going to be very nice to everyone. Do you understand, darling?"

"Yes, mummy." She didn't really though. If Japan was cross with Singapore, then why were they going to England, since Germany was cross with England? "Why is everyone so cross?"

Mummy looked weary when she asked her that question, but she had named her daughter for what she thought was the greatest virtue, and she reminded her of that often. So she elaborated. "Sometimes, darling, people think things that aren't theirs belong to them, and it gets everyone very upset."

"We're going on a boat?" Nancy piped up sleepily, a lazy grin on her face. Patience wished she hadn't interrupted, as mummy turned to her and pulled back the covers, tucking her in. She had wanted some more explanation.

"Yes, my darling girl, a very, very, very big boat!" She tickled her younger sister's stomach, the other girl shrieking in glee. Little did Patience know, or her mother for that matter, that just three days later all possibility of the exciting boat ride would have gone out of the window. A civilian boat leaving the harbour would been sunk by Japanese torpedoes, and no more would be leaving the island.

January, 1945.

Years later Patience wouldn't remember these months as clearly as the others, they would be a dark and grief ridden blur. But at the time it was all too vivid. Hunger burned deep in her stomach, never shifting, continuous, as it had been for so very long, and only getting worse now mummy wasn't giving her extra rice. She lay in her cot – damp and dank wood, collapsed a little at one end, her eyes fixated on the one next to it where mummy and Nancy used to sleep. She felt the frame creak, and she flinched as a hand found itself on her forehead.

"Sorry there, little'un. Thought you was asleep. Was just checkin' for a fever." It was Louise, one of the nurses. "You haven't budged for a while. You don't want to go and do some readin' with the other kids, huh?"

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around her chest. She wanted to stay right here and not move a muscle – she didn't want to run around a play, not that the other children played much anymore, they were always sore or tired or too hungry. And she certainly didn't want to go and listen to Joan teach the babies their ABCs, when she knew how to read perfectly well.

"Hmm, fair enough. Reckon you're a fair bit smarter than that lot, I do. No chance they could keep up with yah." The woman paused for a moment. "Do you know what? I got something real tricky for you to read. Ooh, I think that maybe it'll be a bit too hard." That piqued her curiosity, and she shifted, watching the other woman who ventured over to her cot, and rummaged through her things. "Ah, here. Now, what do these say, Patsy?"

She opened her hand, and three distinct shapes fell into them. She peered at the odd, squishy items. "Claret." She said. "Port…" She struggled with the last one. "Champagne?"

"That's right. Now, go on, pop 'em in your cakehole before one of the other kids sees. Been saving those, but since you can read 'em, they're all yours." She stared at her hand for a moment, which was growing sticky, before slowly realizing that Louise had given her sweets.

A smile erupted across her face, and she hesitated, before carefully placing one in her mouth and chewing. Flavour exploded in her mouth, like she hadn't experienced since the first Christmas in the camp when the women had tried to put something decent together to eat. She did exactly what her mother told her not to, which was to eat with her mouth open because she could only gape. She held her hand out to Louise, who said, "Are you sure? They are yours." She nodded enthusiastically, the nurse obliging and taking one for herself. "Mmm. Great, huh?"

She threw her arms around Louise, her hand still clutching the last precious wine gum in a vice like grip. She couldn't say anything, she couldn't even thank her, she just clung to the woman for dear life, who wrapped her arms around her, pulling her into her lap. "Now, Patsy. How's about you get yourself out of this bed and come to the sick bay and give me a hand? You'd cheer everyone up - I bet you would. Dr. Doreen wouldn't like it, but she's sleeping off last night, and we won't tell her."

She hadn't been back there since Nancy had gone away, she hadn't wanted to. It was miserable and the smell burned her throat, but the promise of a job to do was enticing. Besides, Louise was so very kind to her, and right now she was the only person she wanted to be around. So she nodded, and stood up straight, waiting to be told what to do.

August, 1945.

"This is where you'll be sleeping until your father arrives, Patience?" Miss Smith said, glancing down at her clipboard. "Now, are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable with the other children and Miss Doorson?"

She shook her head firmly, glancing around the room. She didn't want to be with children she didn't know, other children who didn't have mothers. She wanted to be with the women – the women who were her family now and had been for the last three years. Besides, she supposed it would be quieter here, in this hotel room with many more beds than it looked like it would usually contain, than it would be in a room with a similar amount of children. And nearing twelve, Patsy was weary, and she was tired.

"Christ, never stayed in Raffles before. And now look at this – and all free!" Anne exclaimed, ruffling her hair as she went past. "I call dibs on this one, right by the window – I wanna see the buildings."

"That's all right, Patsy's next to me – aren't you kiddo?" Louise said, picking her up off the floor and dropping her on her assigned bed from quite some height. Her eyes widened as she sunk into the soft mattress. "We'll put the old codgers in the other room, in the nice big comfy beds, eh? And all us lot can stay in here." She wandered through the rooms. "Anne! Anne! Come and look at this!"

"What?!" Anne rushed after her, and Patsy followed too. "Oh my word."

"There's only a fuckin' bath. Look at that Pats!"

"Louise, watch your mouth." Anne chastised.

"But it's a bath!" Louise reiterated. Patsy stared at it, huge and as white as the sheets she'd been given to sleep on. Louise reached excitedly for the tap, turning it on, marveling at the clear water that flowed out. Soon enough the other woman followed, all crowding around it. "The kid goes first." Louise said firmly. "Then you lotta animals can fight it out for whoever gets the next turn."

She smiled, just a little bit. Of course, she was happy – she was somewhere much better than she'd been before, and her daddy was coming to get her to take her to England. But it was dawning on her all too quickly that all that was really different was that she was going to be clean, comfortable and fed. She still wasn't going to have mummy or Nancy with her ever again. "It's okay. Someone else can."

Her body hurt and her heart ached and she walked slowly into the other room, climbing into her new bed, feeling awkward as her head hit a pillow and not hard wood, not knowing how to position herself. She heard Louise refereeing the now ensuing argument over who was going to bathe first, and then suggesting that they go two at a time. "Oh come on, I nursed half of you from the brink of death – I've seen it all before."

It was Anne who followed her, sitting at her side and stroking her hair. "Miss Smith told me to give you these things. There are some pajamas, clothes, a toothbrush and some soap, even a hairbrush." She set the bag down at the end of the bed. "When you feel like it we can get you all cleaned up. But it'll have to be before the doctor comes around. He's doing all the children first."

Patsy frowned, "I want Dr. Doreen. Or Louise."

"Dr. Doreen needs to rest, she needs someone to look after her for a little while. And Louise deserves a little time off looking after us lot, don't you think? They both do." Anne said. "And we really need to get your legs looked at properly." She glanced down at the sores that covered Patsy's shins and calves. One of the army men who'd come to get them had put some antiseptic on them – it had made her cry. Louise or Dr. Doreen wouldn't have done that. "I know it hurts, sweetie, but you'll be right as rain in no time. And remember, daddy's coming soon."

"I know." She said, listening to the gleeful sounds of the women splashing water at one another and still trying to establish who would get the first bath, wishing she could be as happy as them.

March, 1946.

"Here we are, Miss Mount. Welcome to Bereford House. Better at hockey than the rest put together, but academically Twyne tends to have the edge. Perhaps you'll be a welcome addition, your father says you're quite the smart one, he said that you've been tutored these past months." The woman who'd been introduced to her as matron placed her bag down on one of the five beds, all in a row. "Now, I've made it up for you this time, and I'll give you a lesson over the weekend. Until then, the other girls will help you; I've told them to. Dorm inspection is every Thursday, it must be spick and span."

"Yes, ma'am." She replied.

"Woman of few words, are we? We'll get along just fine, you and I. Children should be seen and not heard, that's what I say. Not like this rambunctious lot – calling themselves ladies." She continued. "Now, your father said that you're eating a special diet. It's been passed onto cook, though it'll be best not to mention it to the other girls. And I'm told you're to see the school nurse once a week, I'll take you to meet her after dinner."

Patience had hoped she'd escaped the constant weighing and measuring of her height, but apparently not. It seemed that daddy did care, though apparently only that she was getting heavier and taller, and not enough to keep her in the house. She had realised very quickly that she wasn't to talk about it, not at all and not one bit, that daddy didn't want her to. And so began the process of tying it up in brown paper and string in her mind and setting it to one side as best she could.

"Now would be the time to ask any questions, Miss Mount." Matron said. "Well, do you have any?"

Will the other girls laugh at me if I talk in my sleep? Am I going to get caned if I'm naughty? What if I'm terrible at physical education because my legs still hurt so, and do we get to wear long skirts? Will they notice me visiting the nurse, and eating different food and will they be mean about it? Is anyone else here because they remind daddy of everything he lost and only narrowly escaped from himself?

"Where's the bathroom, ma'am?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Practical questions for a practical girl."

January, 1950

Patsy jumped as her door swung open with a bang, clutching the windowsill and flicking her cigarette out of the window quickly, climbing down and smoothing out her skirt as quickly as she could, trying to compose herself. She sighed, not entirely looking forward to having to share her quarters again after having them to herself for the entire Christmas holidays. She hadn't gone home the last few years, and father hadn't tried to convince her too either, which was salt in the wound. It was clear enough that there was really no point in attempting to make the holiday into a happy one anymore, and she was almost relieved that they'd both just accepted it was better to stop trying. Besides, her penultimate year exams were in summer, and if she wanted the world at her feet and on her side for the first time in her life, she was going to have to perform well in them.

"Ahoy there, shipmate!" She turned, only to see Daphne in the doorway – at least it wasn't matron – struggling with a battered looking trunk, in stark contrast to Victoria's designer luggage.

"Um, hello, Daphne." She remarked, wondering what she was doing standing there. Perhaps she was taking a break from lugging the big old thing. Though one could never tell with Daphne, she was rather eccentric.

"Oh, of course Queen Viccy didn't bother to tell you herself. I'm your new roommate." She grinned, opting to shove the trunk the rest of the way, rather than lift it off the ground.

Patsy frowned, switching around wasn't usually permitted. It didn't really bother her though – Daphne shared with Angela, who was one of Victoria's best friends – and she wasn't particularly fond of the snobbish young woman anyway. At least Daphne had a sense of humour, though a strange one given that. "And how did that fly with matron?"

"Oh, fine. Queen Vic was complaining to her all last term about you talking in your sleep, and to the rest of the bloody house. I said she ought to invest in a pair of earplugs if Mountbatten's a mumbler." Patsty rolled her eyes at the ridiculous nickname she'd garnered from having a knack for cricket, whilst Daphne flung open her trunk. Tact was something that Daphne didn't really possess, and that was the first she'd heard of being gossiped about. Her cheeks flushed, and her usually unflappable resolve slipped a little. She thought she'd stopped doing that years ago, and now everyone knew about it. "She bribed me with a case of wine and a bottle of scotch, that's why this thing's ended up so heavy. Great deal for me, really. I sleep like a log, and if you're really as bad as she makes out, I can always have a nightcap now." She produced a bottle from her trunk gleefully. "Besides, Angela was rather dull. Didn't stop talking about lipstick, and she played all these records that were just sad men with wobbly voices. I thought to myself, these men really ought to get a grip." She rambled.

The girl tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Daphne couldn't be described as plain – in fact, she was rather pretty. Bright blue eyes and a sharp pointed nose, full lips that were completely unrouged – though not because it was against matron's rules, but because Patsy suspected she just didn't care about that kind of thing. If one weren't to give her a second look, it would only be because of her unstyled hair and creased clothes, not because of her features. They were quite lovely really. She shook her head.

"Oh cripes. I've put my foot in it. You're upset." She looked dismayed.

"No." Patsy lied. Usually she rose above things like this so well. If one of the girls commented nastily on her appearance, she wouldn't bat an eyelid, if she was called offish or aloof, it didn't bother her. But when she was being talked about concerning matters that went deeper than what she let slide on the surface, it made her distinctly uncomfortable. She very much liked to control what she showed people, and that was never very much. "I really don't care."

Daphne had eyes that said, for all her apparent awkwardness and over-enthusiasm – nothing really got past her. "You do, but its fine." She shrugged, digging into her bag. "Peace offering? I do suppose you ought to receive some sort of payment as well, since you have to put up with me now." She held out a bottle of wine.

"Its fine, we can share when you open your bribe." Patsy suggested.

"It's a deal. Now, Angela was a bore and never let me smoke in the room in case she got in trouble, but if my snout detects correctly-"

"You just have to do it by the window ledge, sit on it and lean right out. Once I nearly fell." Patsy said.

"You're a prefect after my own heart, and I don't usually agree with the rule-makers. Chitter chatter in your sleep all you like, this is going to be a much better term than the last." Daphne grinned, and Patsy smiled softly as well.

September 1957.

"Hello, Pats." That nickname only meant one thing. "I brought you something." She looked up from her desk, her eyes setting upon Delia in the doorway. The Welshwoman hovered over the threshold, and she felt a lurch of regret that she was being so hesitant when she was usually so forthcoming, striding into her room and into her life regardless of Patsy's sensibilities and reservations. She should have resented her for it, for getting under her skin so quickly and efficiently, for seeing through her like she was a pane of glass when she lied about how she was feeling, liable to shatter. She hadn't seen the other woman in three days – Delia had been avoiding her. "What are you doing?" She asked, unable to quell her insatiable curiosity, even if there was something more reserved about her manner.

"Replying to some old friends. I've been rather busy lately and hadn't got to it." She replied, setting down her pen.

Delia peered over her penmanship from behind her, she didn't place a hand on her shoulder though, or better, lean down and pop her chin there. "Who's Mountbatten?" She asked.

"Oh, that's me. It's from a school friend; it was a silly name the girls gave me." She placed Daphne's letter and her half finished reply to it to one side, turning around in her swivel chair, waiting for Delia to poke fun at her for yet another quirk that was the result of her years of boarding school. But she didn't say anything.

"This is for the other night. I had rather too much of yours." She held out a bottle of gin, guilt crossing her features. So much had culminated on Saturday evening. A night out at the pictures as their respective evenings off had coincided for the first time in what seemed like forever, had been followed by some drinks in Delia's room, and then another and another. Each glass that chased the next feeling illicit yet liberating, as the sitting in bed together became reclining, head propped up on hand with a good few inches between them. Another swig of gin from the bottle, glasses forgotten, and then there was no more space between them – not by accident this time, as she'd told herself it was all the other times. The alcohol sunk in, and she couldn't drink anymore, not because she was in a state but because she didn't want to be. Half of her wanted to remember every moment of this, and half of her knew she must retain some of her inhibitions. And then Delia's head had been on her chest, a hand resting gently on her stomach, rising and falling with her breathing.

She hadn't stopped thinking about what happened after that – her fingers had found Delia's hair, soft and dark. She thought the other woman had been asleep, and she didn't know what to do. She began to think of ways of shifting her so that she didn't wake her – she couldn't stay. Deels hadn't been asleep though, just peaceful, or so she'd thought, until the other woman looked at her and she could barely focus on her features because they were so close but there was anguish and torment written all over her and it broke her heart. Patsy's lips had parted to say something, though she hadn't decided what yet, and she never would, because all too soon they were covered by Delia's – it was quick, gentle, but it was everything she'd been trying to deny she wanted.

Then the Welshwoman had pulled away, eyes brimming with liquid, her mouth agape, unable to speak. She had a split second before apologies began to tumble from Delia's lips and tears from her eyes, she knew that much, so she slipped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in, a little more quickly and clumsily than she'd intended in her haste to reassure her, and relished in what she'd just felt once again.

They hadn't talked about it since.

"Nonsense, Deels." Patsy breathed.

"I just wanted to replace it." She said, placing it on her desk. "Anyway, I…goodnight, Patsy."

Without thinking, Patsy stood up, the chair shoved back a good few inches in her haste, and lunged for her hand, taking it in her own. She almost let it slip out of her grip, realizing now that everything, every time they linked arms, brushed against one another, there was no hiding from what it meant, and why they were doing it. But she gathered her resolve – if there was one thing she knew, this woman before her meant more to her than anyone in had in all her years. Of course she'd met good people before, and she'd had a handful of good friends, but people she was willing to let invade every facet of her at their will, to occupy her every thought? – she'd never met anyone like that.

"No, Delia, don't go." She gently urged the other woman to sit down with her on her bed. "I meant it. The other night. I'm sorry if you didn't, if it was an accident, it was probably my fault I…" She trailed off, the darker parts of her mind reasoning that even if Delia had made a terrible mistake in kissing her, at least she had started it, and had kissed her back, so the Welshwoman couldn't get her into trouble.

"Oh Pats, it wasn't an accident. I meant it too." She whispered, and Patsy released a weary sigh of relief. "And I'd do it again." She glanced to the bed, and Patsy's breath caught in her throat, sending her heart awry.