Rated: PG
Characters: Mick
A/N: I did my best to be historically accurate. Or at least believable.
I used Google for the translation. I hope it passes.
Special thanks once again to Moonlighter for the plot bunny, bouncing ideas with me and being my beta.
The War and the Ring
Mick stripped off his dirty clothes and left them in a heap on his bathroom floor. He pulled his ring, caked with dried blood, off of his finger and dropped it into a jar of special jewelry cleaner he kept on hand for just these occasions. Stepping into his shower, he scrubbed at the remaining blood on his hands as he thought about the scene in the park.
“St. John. Hey, St. John! You alright? You look kind of pale. There’s a water pump over there you can use to rinse your hands. Then I’ll give you a lift home. We’ll need to keep Josh’s car and process it for evidence.”
“Thanks, Carl. What about Beth?”
“A uniform is taking her home. They’ve already left.”
Mick sat on the floor of his shower and leaned his head back against the wall.
I know Beth is angry at me for not turning Josh. But I did everything I could to save him for her. Didn’t I? He ran through all his actions in his mind. Yes, I did. I did the best I could. I’ll go see her later and try to explain it.
He shut off the water, dried and dressed. Grabbing the jar of jewelry cleaner, he went downstairs and started the fireplace. He found a small brush and a soft cloth in the kitchen and sat down next to the fire. He removed the ring from the cleaning solution and scrubbed at it with the brush, being sure to get in all the intricate carvings. Then he began to polish it with the cloth in a rhythmic pattern.
You learn a lot in war. Trying to save Josh from his multiple gunshot wounds brought back memories of those years. With the war fresh in his mind and the ring in his hands, it was inevitable that he reflected on how it came to be his.
MLMLMLML
His unit was passing through a rural Italian village when an old man, a young woman and her daughter, about eight years of age, approached them. The woman asked, in English, if they could walk with the soldiers to their farm just a few kilometers outside of town. The sergeant agreed. The little girl, Anna Maria, was immediately drawn to the tall Medic with the nice smile and friendly eyes. She walked next to Mick and her mother, named Anne, walked on her other side. The old gentleman, who turned out to be Anne’s father-in-law and the little girl’s grandfather, walked on the other side of her mother. Anna Maria chattered away to Mick in Italian. He didn’t understand a word she was saying so he merely smiled and nodded along, letting some of her happiness rub off on him.
About two kilometers outside of the village, they were ambushed.
“Incoming!!” someone shouted and the soldiers scattered. Mick yanked the little girl off to the side of the road and threw her down on the ground into a ditch, covering her trembling body with his own as a grenade exploded and gunfire erupted. The grandfather and Anne were in a ditch on the opposite side of the road. Anne was screaming for her daughter but Mick’s body muffled the terrified girl’s calls in return. Though it seemed longer, it was over in a matter of minutes; the members of Mick’s patrol flushed out the enemy soldiers and permanently silenced them. Anne rushed across the road to her daughter as Mick attended to the few superficial wounds of his comrades.
“How is she?” he asked Anne, returning to the little girl’s side and kneeling down.
“She has hurt her ankle and cannot walk, but there is no blood. She is just very frightened.”
“Well, let’s have a look then, shall we?” Mick said in a comforting voice. He gently handled the swollen ankle and Anna Maria winced, but did not cry out. “It seems to be just a sprain. I’m afraid I must have caused it when I threw her to the ground. I’m sorry. I’ll wrap it up tightly and it should be fine in a couple of weeks.”
“I do not fault you, signore. I thank you, for protecting my daughter. With your life.” Mick nodded, a bit embarrassed. “Look,” Anne said, indicating Anna Maria with her head. “She is being brave in front of you.”
Mick smiled at the little girl. “You did great, Anna Maria!” he said as he tousled her hair. He held his Medic kit out to Anne. “If you don’t mind carrying my kit bag, I can carry Anna on my back.”
“I do not mind at all. No, nonno,” she said to the old gentleman who appeared at Mick’s side. He was trying to take the little girl from Mick. She spoke to him in Italian and he hung his head, disheartened. “I told him he was too weak to carry Anna Maria all the way to the farmhouse. But I am not sure he trusts you.” She smiled at Mick.
“Well, I guess he’ll just have to this time.” Mick crouched down and let Anna Maria climb up on his back. She was no effort at all for him to carry; he had carried fully loaded packs weighing more than this wisp of a girl. She giggled as they set off down the road.
On their walk Mick learned that Anne’s mother was English. Her father died young and her mother had later married an Italian. Anne in turn married an Italian. She tried to keep up her English, but rarely had the opportunity to use it. She apologized to Mick if she sounded out of practice.
“You’re doing fine,” Mick assured her and he was rewarded with a smile.
“Anna Maria was named after me and after my husband’s mother. I have tried to teach her some English, but she does not seem able to sit still long enough.” Mick laughed.
“That sounds just like me when I was little,” he told her.
“Please, signore, what is your name? You have not said.”
“I’m Mick. Mick St. John.”
“St. John? That is really your surname?”
“It really is. Why?”
“That is my grandmother’s surname as well! She must have sent you to me today to protect mio caro! You are Anna Maria’s angelo custode. Her guardian angel, yes?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that…”
“Si, angelo!” Anna Maria said and hugged Mick around his neck.
They continued walking. “So where is your husband? Is he back at the farm?”
Anne’s eyes grew distant. “He is away fighting in the Resitenza italiana. We… we have not heard from him in some time,” she said softly.
Mick wanted to kick himself for asking. “I’m sorry, Anne. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“No, that is alright. We are proud of him. Aren’t we, Grandfather?” She repeated the question in Italian for the old man, who stood tall and nodded vigorously.
Soon the farmhouse came into view. “There, that is our farm,” Anne said, pointing towards the small house and nearby barn. “Can you stay for supper?” she asked. Mick handed Anna Maria to her grandfather.
“I’ll be right back,” he assured her, and ran up to his sergeant. A few minutes later he returned and took the little girl back into his arms. “Sarge said they are planning to stop for the night at the next town, about 15 clicks from here. If I’m not there by sun up, they’re leaving without me.”
“Then that is settled. You will stay.” They all veered off the road and followed a dirt track to the farm.
Mick looked around warily. “How long have you been gone today? Are you sure it’s safe?”
“We have been gone all day.”
At Mick’s urging, they approached the house slowly and quietly. Suddenly they heard a clang coming from inside, as if someone had dropped a cooking pot on the floor. Anne’s eyes grew wide and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Should there be anyone inside?” Mick whispered. She shook her head no, not trusting herself to speak. Again, Mick handed off the little girl to her grandfather. Drawing his side arm, he motioned for the others to crouch down back against the wall of the house. Slowly, Mick pushed the door ajar and looked in, having a clear view through to the kitchen at the back of the house. He could see a uniformed soldier eating a carrot and searching the cupboards. He was dirty, unkempt and one sleeve was covered in blood. The uniform was Italian. Mick crept closer.
“Halt! Arresto!” Mick shouted. The man spun around, brandishing a knife, his eyes wild. They stood there staring at each other, neither making a move. Mick knew that as a Medic, he could only fire in self defense. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “Put the knife down. Do you understand? Put the knife,” he motioned to the table, “down.”
“Mettere il coltello,” Mick heard from behind him. The soldier looked from Mick to Anne and back to Mick. Slowly, he laid the knife on the table and slid it towards them. Mick lowered his pistol.
“Grazie,” Mick said as he grabbed the knife. Without turning around, he asked Anne, “Do you have food to give him?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Ask him if he’s hungry. Tell him we will feed him. Tell him I’m a Medic; I can bandage his arm if he’ll let me look at it. Tell him we mean him no harm. He’s either lost or a deserter.”
Anne relayed Mick’s words to the soldier in Italian. Relief flooded his dirty face and he nodded. “Grazie, grazie,” he repeated over and over.
Anne handed Mick his Medic’s bag and instructed the soldier to wash his hands and face at the sink. Her father-in-law came into the kitchen with Anna Maria. He pulled a chair from the table to the far side of the kitchen and sat down with Anna on his lap, watching carefully. Anne got out bread, cheese and more raw carrots for the man. As he ate greedily, Mick cut open his sleeve and examined his arm. He had been shot, but the bullet had gone clean through. And no sign of infection yet, luckily. Mick cleaned and treated the wound, and bandaged it up.
“Tell him he has to leave now, and not come back. Send him into the village.” Anne did as Mick told her. The soldier nodded, stood up, and glanced longingly at the remaining bread and cheese. Anne wrapped them up and gave them to him.
“Grazie, grazie,” he said again. Nodding to Mick, he quickly left the house.
“Will you be alright here?” Mick asked. “Do you think he’ll stay away?”
Anne and her father-in-law exchanged words. “Yes, I think we’ll be alright. I don’t think he’ll return.” She paused. “He was so young,” she sighed.
Mick didn’t say anything. He saw way too many soldiers who were too young. And many of them died. He shook the thought out of his head.
Anne cleaned up the table and set about getting more bread and cheese for their supper. She made a hearty soup and Mick’s mouth was watering.
“That was the best meal I’ve had in ages,” he said when they had finished. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Anne blushed. “I… I better get going,” Mick stammered.
“No, you should not be out after dark. You must stay the night.”
“I can sleep in the barn. It will be warm and dry,” Mick said as he headed for the door.
“You will NOT sleep in the barn, signore Mick! I will not allow it!” The old gentleman also spoke up. Anne turned to Mick again. “WE will not allow it. I will get some blankets. You can sleep on the couch by the fire.”
“But…”
“It is decided. We will make sure you awake in time to meet your sergeant.”
Mick didn’t argue any more, the thought of warm blankets and sleeping inside a house too tempting. The family retreated to their sleeping quarters, with little Anna Maria giving Mick a hug and kiss before her grandfather carried her off to bed. Mick could hear Anne and the old man talking softly while he drifted off to sleep.
All too soon the old man was shaking Mick awake and pointing him in the direction of the kitchen. After Mick washed up, he discovered a huge breakfast of toast and eggs waiting for him. Mick ate every bite.
“Here, I have packed you some more. Here is some cheese for you, and some fresh bread to share with your comrades. I got up early to bake it for you.”
“Anne, you didn’t have to do that. But thank you. They will be most grateful. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me.”
“No, it is we who thank you. You have done so much!” She looked at her father-in-law and he nodded. She turned back to Mick. “Grandfather and I talked last night, and we want you to have this.” She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a man’s ring. “This belonged to my great-grandfather, on my mother’s side. It is the St. John’s cross in white gold. There have not been any sons for a long time. No more St. Johns. I am giving it to you.” She held it out to him.
Mick stood staring at the ring, and then at Anne and the old man in turn, not knowing what to say. The old man smiled and nodded, pointing to the ring and then to Mick. “I… I can’t take this from you – it’s too valuable!”
“I could never sell it. And it does no good sitting in a box. Please take it. Keep it as a reminder of us, and all that you did for us. And for Anna Maria. You are a fine man. A moral man. Take it, please. Pass it on to your sons. The St. John cross should be worn by a St. John.”
Mick slowly reached out his hand and took the ring.
MLMLMLML
It had ended up in his personal kit, and then in his foot locker. He didn’t wear it because he really didn’t like to think about the war, and all the friends he lost.
After Coraline turned him on their wedding night, he knew he had to give up his old life. But some things he couldn’t let go. He had returned to his old apartment in the dead of night, his vampire vision making it unnecessary to use a flashlight. He gathered the few possessions of his human life that he wanted to keep; his army footlocker and some special photographs among them. As he went through the items in his footlocker, he came across the ring. He stared at it for a long time, remembering Anne, her family, and her parting words. “Keep it as a reminder of us, and all that you did for us. You are a fine and moral man. It should be worn by a St. John. Pass it on to your sons.”
Mick’s first inclination was to hurl it across the room. My sons? That will never happen now. But the longer he held it and stared at it, the more he wanted to keep it. I don’t want to forget that I was human. I lived. I loved. I made a difference in this world – to this family at least. I may not ever have any sons, but from now on, this ring will always be worn by a St. John. Forever. It will be a connection to my humanity. He slipped it onto the first finger of his right hand. It fit perfectly. Thank you, Anne. He slammed his footlocker closed and left the apartment for the last time.
MLMLMLML
Mick sighed and put the cleaning materials away. He slipped the gleaming ring onto his finger and looked at it, wondering what had become of the family; of little Anna Maria. He hoped she had grown up happy and had a family of her own.
He had lost track of the time while he had been reminiscing. Time to go see if Beth is alright. I hope she understands.
The End
What a bittersweet reminder it must be. Every time he looks at it, he must think of the sons he'll never have. 
But at least he's wearing a St. John family ring, and part of Anne's wish will come true. The ring will be worn by a St. John for many, many generations. And it is a treasure beyond the value of the gold and stones...it's a link to what Mick was before Lilah, before Coraline, before Beth. When he had all sorts of possibilities ahead of him. 
