matches struck unexpectedly in the dark (the bletchley circle | jean~lucy)

[fiachairecht]

matches struck unexpectedly in the dark. the bletchley circle, jean~lucy. five ways they might have reunited after the war. 500w, rated t. for echoslam in everywoman 2021.

The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.
— To The Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf

Jean knows her girls — likes to think she'd know them anywhere, even after the end of the War has sent them all scattering. But it still takes her a moment to recognise Lucy across the street, not so much on the arm of her young man as being dragged along behind him.

But still: their eyes meet, across the road. Lucy's big and watery, Jean's surprised for a moment, then as full of sympathy as she can manage.

It's over too quickly. Lucy ducks her head, cheeks flaming, and vanishes into a shop. Jean stands, frozen, feeling like she's failed. 

**

Lucy approaches the reference desk with the quick quiet footsteps of someone trying a bit too hard to be inconspicuous. Jean hasn't seen her in years, but the look on Lucy's face makes it clear this isn't a time for happy reunions.

"I need these books, please, Ms McBrian," Lucy whispers, placing a sheet of paper on the desk.

Jean scans it — titles and publication dates, no obvious connection visible to her — but what's buried in them that Lucy remembers?

"Of course, dear," she says. "Let's talk privately, hm?"

Lucy relaxes into a smile, but something tightens around Jean's heart.

**

The invitation in the post is a heavy piece of white cardstock, bordered with silver. Lucy's handwriting is as neat and perfect as ever, and Jean can't help but smile as she runs her thumb over the carefully blotted ink. Woman Police Constable Lucy Stevens is being promoted to CID, and Jean is invited to a celebration in her honour.

She thinks, sometimes, that it'll stop her breath, how proud she is of all her girls, and Lucy most of all.

The war is over. Jean puts as much chocolate in the cake as either of them could possibly bear.

**

They have tea every Saturday, and every other Wednesday, when Jean gets off from the library early. It's odd, coming back together like this — odder than Jean thought either would know what to do with, but they settle into each other's peacetime lives as if they'd never left.

Except: now they can talk about Susan's children growing up so quickly, about Millie's newest girl. Now they can stay awake into the morning and keep candles burning. Lucy can rest her hand on Jean's knee, Jean can lean over, kiss the corner of Lucy's mouth, soft and hungry.

Everything's better, now.

**

Jean doesn't have an extravagantly sized bed, but Lucy still looks tiny under the duvet. When they share the bed, Lucy sprawls out as much as possible — half her limbs pulling Jean close, the other laying claim to the rest of the furniture.

On her own, she still curls up more often than not, too many years of war and grief urging her inward.

Jean hesitates in the doorway, the steaming mugs of tea growing uncomfortable in her hands.

It's nearly Hogmanay, she reasons, putting them down and slipping in beside Lucy. She can afford one secret moment of selfishness.