Hey! My name's Roxy Goth. I've recently got into the Ghosts fandom and I've decided my favourite character is the Captain. With that I decided to write my own version of his life and death.
This takes place after 'The Thomas Thorne Affair'
I do not own Ghosts in any way shape or form.
It was inevitable really. That Thomas's trip down memory lane would result in my reminiscing. Not on Thomas's death itself, I hasten to add, I'm not that old. But on my own and death in general.
I was born some time in 1885. I'm afraid I can't be more specific. I have a fancy my birthday may have been some time in the later months of the year, but my memory of life isn't what it was. I was the third son. My two older brothers were nice. The oldest one was nicer to me than the other one. He saw me as an annoying child who took the attention of of him.
My oldest brother, who I call John, was four years older than me. The next one, who I call Ernest, was two years older than me. I remember having some good times with them. John taught me how to shoot. He played games with me, which was unusual back then. Ernest spent most of his time glaring at me or making sly remarks. I think he knew on some level that I was gay and made his feeling known. If John suspected he didn't say a thing and carried on treating me like the slightly-annoying but well meaning younger brother I was.
I wish I could remember their names.
My mother died. Giving birth to my only younger brother. Something went wrong about halfway through the birth and she died. I think nowadays she would have had what Allison calls a 'C-Section', but back then such a thing wasn't normal and so she died.
My only younger brother, who I call Percival, was born and -by a miracle - was alright. Sure, he was slightly strange and used to go around talking to himself kinda like Robin does occasionally but he was lovely and I adored him.
I can't remember much about the years before WW1. The war itself I have bits and pieces of it. I remember the joking with the other soldiers. The sense we were doing something. I also remember seeing them blow up in front off me...
But I try not to dwell on those bits.
I survived - just to point that out. I was lucky to. Very lucky. I saw other men, very good men get...blown up in front of me. Shot. When I made it back it was to the news that my two older brothers had died on the front.
I was devastated. The whole country was devastated of course. But...my world was gone. John, who had shown me so much love and support, was gone. I even missed Ernest's jabbing. I would rather have him here than...dead.
It was a miracle that Percival survived, really. My dad survived as well. And for a little while we were three. Muddling through. The whole nation trying to heal.
And then World War 2 happened. In the first war I had been sufficiently injured enough that I wasn't allowed access to the front again. I lack the ability to kneel for a long time you see, and you need that when you're holding a rifle for hours at a time.
So I was sent to manage the development of future weapons, designed to achieve success over the German's. Then, of course, Lt Havers came into my life. I remember the first time I saw him. I was feeling lost. Slightly out of my depth. I was staring out the window watching the men arrive. Then I heard a polite. "Excuse me, sir?" I turned round to see the nicest looking man I had ever seen. "Are you Captain Taylor?"
"Eh?" I blinked, then recovered my senses. "Yes, yes I am. And you must be Lt Havers?"
I wouldn't go so far as to say it was quite love at first sight. Maybe love at first couple-of-hours-together. By the end of the first week I was completely head-over-heals.
And then he left me. By that time I had been at Button house for a number of years. I had seen good men come and go. Just to be clear, when I say 'go' I don't mean die, I mean they moved on, mainly to the front. That was the aim. To get promoted. No one wanted to spend the entire time coming up with weapons. You wanted a piece of the action, everyone knew that.
Yet, it still shocked me when he went. He wasn't meant to go. He wasn't meant to leave.
I stayed, of course. By that point I was running on auto-pilot. Percival, despite being several years younger than me, had managed to get to the front He lasted three weeks. My father wrote me a letter. He hadn't been allowed to fight again due to medical injuries from the first World War. Father told me I was the only one left and to do him proud.
Two months after that my new Lt - Lieutenant Baker - brought me news from the front. He had heard from a friend, of a friends, of a friend, that Lt Havers - MY Lt Havers - had died in battle after stepping on a grenade.
I did my best, honestly I did. I was used by that point to hiding myself. I nodded, unable to speak. Then I realised he was waiting for me to speak so stammered out a thank you - thank you! Thank you for telling me the man I was deeply in love with is now dead. How can I EVER thank you!?
Was what I wanted to say. Instead I just said a sharp, curt thank you and went upstairs to bed. And for the first time ever I cried. It wasn't even hysterically or anything like that, it was quiet sobbing. Stifled.
I thought I was being quiet. As manly as I could be in the circumstances. Eventually I fell asleep.
The next thing I knew my chest was in agony and I was unable to breath. I tried to open my mouth only to find my lips firmly closed. My nose was squashed and I couldn't breath.
I. Couldn't. Breath.
I managed to move my arms, to try and fight whatever it was. It was soft, then hard. I can't remember much of what happened, thankfully, except the pain. Oh GOD the pain! Pressure in your lungs. The ability to hear your own heart stopping. The knowing - that's the worse thing - the knowing that you can't breath and you're dying and you can't do anything.
I heard voices as well. Some of them I recognise now as being Thomas, Fanny, Robin + Kitty. The two others I'm not sure. They were men, I know that. To be honest, I'm not sure I want to know. I have my theory. Let's just say I do not think it's a coincidence that less than two hours after being given the worst news of my life I died.
Since then I've endured. I suppose I've gained...friends. Or at least a new sense of comradeship. It's hard to ignore/hate people 24/7 when you LITERALLY have no escape from them. And now we've got Allison and Mike. Maybe there is hope for the future. I know times have changed. The clothes, the music, the general dis-respect for the queen and country. But there's also good things as well. People are more at ease with themselves. It's now accepted people don't have to hide. There's this thing called 'Pride.'
I've seen some terrible things over my time. And, as much as I'm happy to represent those values and preach moral decency to my fellow ghosts, would I actually go back? Probably not.
I suppose I've just got to accept I am actually dead now. I had hoped that when I died I would be reunited with Havers, but it more than 60 years on and there's no sign of that yet. I'll never give up hope though. I will be with him again even if it kills me!
Well. You know what I mean.