by RR Haywood
Harry brushes past her to set the water to heat. Ben walks behind him, moving round his solid bulk to grab an apple from the bowl. Miri takes an apple and turns to lean against the table while eating. Safa sits on the armrest of the big sofa that Emily flops on with an audible groan. Nobody speaks. The atmosphere feels thick and charged. The day has been long and gruelling. The days before that were longer and more gruelling. Weeks of it. Unrelenting. They all feel it. Like a thing building. Like a force growing stronger.
Emily stretches out. She loves this sofa. This is her sofa. This is bliss. She wouldn’t change being here for all the money in the world, but it’s still hard. Very hard. She idly watches Harry making drinks. Of all of them, he is the calmest. This is not new to Harry. The rest mask the restless energy with usual behaviours, but Harry is the same as always. Calm and controlled.
The doctor comes through. Ria gets the mugs ready. Harry pours. The air fills with the sound of the water going into the mugs and the chink of the spoon as Ria stirs. She hands one to Ben, then moves out to pass Safa’s and Emily’s over. Harry passes Miri’s before taking crackers from a tub and loading a plate with sliced cheese. He crosses to the sofa. The one that Emily thinks is hers, but is really his. She pulls her legs up. He sits down. She watches him load a cracker with cheese. He lifts it to eat. She leans forward. He holds it out. She takes a bite. He eats the rest. No need for words. No need to speak. She leans against him. Ria watches them discreetly. Trying to detect if they are flirting, but it doesn’t feel like it. Mind you, Ben couldn’t sit down and rest against Harry, so maybe there is a degree of flirting, but mild, like passive and non-sexual, which makes it just friendship.
Emily likes being near Harry. Alpha was an enigma. A demi-god. The best of all of them. Frighteningly capable and brutally efficient, but Harry lifted Alpha off his feet with one arm and ragged him like a doll. She rubs her forehead on his shoulder. He loads a cracker and offers it. She takes a bite. He eats the rest. Friendship.
Safa sips her coffee. Ben drinks his. Miri eats her apple. The doctor sits down heavily in an armchair in the thick, charged air. Tension grows. Pressure builds.
Ria feels the urge to speak out and say something. Just say it. Announce it and be done. She forms the words to say. Running through it in her mind as her heart beats faster and nerves fill her stomach that tightens with a sense of dread. She wants her mum. She really wants her mum right now.
‘We’re ready,’ Safa says suddenly, breaking the silence.
Ben freezes with his mug to his lips. Harry pauses, loading a cracker. Emily looks over. Miri holds the apple close to her mouth. The doctor purses his lips and nods slowly.
Ria’s heart thunders. Say something. Say it now before it’s too late.
‘Beardy,’ Safa says, looking at Harry, who is now back to loading his cracker. ‘You’ve done the most missions. When’s the best time to go? Now while we’re in the zone, or . . .’
‘No,’ he says, working on the cracker. ‘Rest tonight. Go in the morning.’
Safa sips her coffee. Ben drinks his. Harry holds the cracker for Emily to bite.
Ria stares at the floor. It feels like her vision is closing in, that the room has become too small, too confined.
‘Tomorrow then,’ Safa says, glancing at Miri.
‘Agreed,’ Miri says before biting into the apple.
It’s done. They’re going to do it tomorrow. Ria wants to scream and shout and beg them not to do it. She stares at the floor and doesn’t say anything.
Emily groans, long and audible. Ben looks over at her, seeing the smile slowly spreading across her face. ‘Thank god,’ she mutters.
‘Aye.’
‘Definitely,’ Ben says as the tension in the room slides away. A lifting of worry. An easing of pressure. Finally, they are ready. Finally.
Each feels the finality of the decision and the relief it brings. Apart from Ria. She forces a smile and makes her legs move to carry her across the room towards the door.
‘You okay?’ Ben asks her.
‘Fine,’ she says lightly, nodding quickly. ‘I’ll get the chicken on.’
‘That,’ Safa states, ‘is a bloody good idea. I am starving.’
Thirty-Seven
The night passes. They eat grilled chicken and fish on the island with Bertie and Doctor Watson. They drink water and juice. They talk lightly, but the energy is there. The feeling of something coming. The build-up. Pre-mission tension. Ria sits with them. Her right hand holding the fork. Her left unknowingly on her belly. Doctor Watson notices it. Miri too. Nothing is said. This is not the time. A look between them. A nod. Ben sees that look and casually glances down to see Ria talking to Emily with her left hand on her stomach. He pauses, thinking, connecting and looks back at Miri. His eyebrows lift. She purses her lips and goes back to eating. The secret is out.
‘What time is kick-off?’ the doctor asks.
‘Early,’ Safa says. ‘We’ll warm up and go for it.’
‘I see,’ he says. ‘I shall make ready to receive casualties.’
‘Stay out of the portal room,’ Safa adds. ‘Risk of rounds going through.’
‘Understood,’ the doctor says gravely, waggling his fork in the air.
‘Progress on the sound waves?’ Miri asks Bertie.
‘S’just binary, but yes, but haha! I don’t know.’
A murmur of chuckles at Bertie’s reply. Getting a straight answer out of him is impossible.
‘Like, totally no reason they won’t go through. Matter is, like, totally matter. The whole world is full of sound. Like, epic and awesome and . . . The sun makes noise and everything makes noise, but, yeah, no, so . . .’
‘You’ll get there,’ Emily says.
‘We were shouting through it today,’ the doctor says with a smile at Bertie. ‘We spent the best part of two hours walking back and forth singing songs and trying to determine the exact second the noise ends . . . or begins . . . depending which side you are on.’
‘S’just binary.’
‘And making the displacement field see-through?’
‘Not started that yet,’ the doctor answers.
‘Would be good to see what’s on the other side before we go through,’ Miri says, forking a chunk of grilled chicken.
‘Oh my god!’ Bertie blurts, then bursts out laughing.
‘What?’ Ben asks.
‘See-through, like to see through? Like, to totally see the other side? Like . . . like . . . window! You want a window? Haha! I thought you meant just see through, not see-through . . .’
‘A window, Bertie,’ Ria says. ‘So they can see what’s on the other side.’
‘Haha! I mean, totally just rewrite the laws of physics and . . . um . . . epic. Okay, Miri. A window. Why are you rubbing your belly? Have you got bellyache?’
‘What?!’ Ria blurts. ‘I’m not,’ she adds, bringing her left hand up while her face flushes crimson. ‘Period pains,’ she mumbles.
‘Urgh,’ Bertie says, grimacing.
Emily tuts and reaches out to rub her arm. ‘Nasty. Maybe John can give you something?’
‘S’fine,’ Ria mumbles.
‘John? Anything you can give Ria?’ Emily asks down the table.
‘I’m fine,’ Ria states, hating the patronising, condescending show of kindness from someone so fit and strong.
‘Perhaps we can have a chat after dinner,’ the doctor says, holding his gaze on Ria.
She squirms on her seat. Hating all of them. Hating the sudden attention. She can feel her face burning. Everyone is staring at her. She can feel it. She glances up to see none of them are looking at her.
‘How’s the shoulder?’ the doctor asks.
‘Fine,’ Ben says. ‘Bit sore, but nothing really.’
Conversations roll on. Idle chat. Ria stabs the chicken on her plate. Her appetite gone. She worries about tomorrow as her whole body fills with that sense of dread. She can’t stop thinking about it. Why are they going tomorro
w? That means she has no more time to think and decide what to do. Her mum is in the house.
‘Be a long day tomorrow,’ Emily says casually, reaching out for the salad bowl.
‘I still don’t know why you’re doing it all in one go,’ the doctor says. ‘Stagger it out. Why rush it?’
‘Not rushing,’ Miri says. ‘Execution of the mission in one fluid motion.’
‘But you have the option,’ the doctor says. ‘If something happens, I mean. Someone trips or twists an ankle, say, or . . .’
‘We have the option,’ Miri says, nodding at him.
‘We discussed it,’ Ben says. ‘A lot. We discussed it a lot. Best to go straight through. One hit. Start to finish.’
‘Well, you chaps know what you’re doing,’ the doctor says. ‘Just watch out for the old . . .’
‘Oh, fuck off,’ Safa laughs.
‘What?’ the doctor asks with a grin.
‘Let him say it,’ Ben says, chuckling as he nods at Emily to pass the salad bowl.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Safa mutters.
‘My advice,’ the doctor announces.
‘Go on then,’ Safa says.
‘Watch out for the old crossfire.’
Low laughs, chuckles and grins round the table.
‘Got to watch the crossfire in a firefight, you know.’
‘When you’ve been in a war with the old crossfire,’ Emily says deeply.
‘Aye,’ Harry says, smiling over the table at her.
‘Aye,’ Emily says.
‘Aye,’ Ben adds.
‘Twats,’ Safa says.
They eat, but not too much. They sip a cold beer each. Only one though. Miri and Harry drift off to smoke and sit in comfortable silence. Safa, Ben and Emily rest on the warm rocks with bare feet in the cool water and watch the doctor casting a line from a rod while wearing his ridiculous sleeveless fishing jacket. Ria frets.
She worries. The sense of dread builds. The threat of a panic attack drives her to clear and wash the dishes, tidy, clean and move about. The others offered to help. She said no curtly. Safa, Emily and Harry guess the tension of tomorrow is making her snappy. Miri, Ben and the doctor suspect something else, but now is not the time.
The night comes. The darkness falls. Stars shine. They relax on the island before retiring back to the bunker. Emily and Harry race to grab their sofa. Safa and Ben take one of the others. Safa toes her flip-flops off and lands her feet in Ben’s lap with a grin. Emily does the same to Harry, who shoves them off. She puts them back. He grabs her ankles with one hand and tickles. She screams out and pulls back while hitting him on the shoulder. They pass time, and each counts the seconds that now seem to be crawling by. Each wants it to happen now. Get it done. They’ve trained for it. They’re ready for it.
Ria watches the seconds going by too fast. The countdown is on. The panic inside knots her stomach. She paces her rooms. Worried sick.
Miri takes her lists into the main room for a final verbal briefing of the order of play. The others nod, listen, make comments and mentally prepare.
Then it’s time. Time to say goodnight. They drift to their rooms. Safa and Emily sit on Emily’s bed chatting for a while. Harry reads Mark Twain. Ben lies on his bed deep in thought.
Emily lies awake thinking of tomorrow. How will it feel going back? She knows Miri will be watching her closely. She also knows that if she even attempted anything stupid, the Blue would pop open next to her and Miri would come through with a pistol aimed at her head. Not that she would do anything stupid. Emily is with them to the end. They are the good guys. This is the front. She likes eating crackers and cheese with Harry too much to be anywhere else.
Harry sleeps. A mission is a mission. Nothing new. Nothing to get flappy about.
Safa strides barefoot up the corridor in knickers and a vest. She opens the door, goes in, closes the door and crosses to his bed. He pulls the cover back. She sinks down and rolls on her right side. He rolls to curl up behind her. Cocooning. She smiles and shuffles into him. He smiles and kisses her head.
‘Do what I say tomorrow,’ she says quietly.
‘I will,’ he says.
‘If it goes wrong, I’ll come back for you.’
‘Same.’
‘You did that once before,’ she says, rolling over to look at him.
‘I did,’ he says, kissing her cheek.
‘You worried?’ she asks.
‘Not worried – apprehensive, I think. You?’
‘No. You said it’s the right thing.’
‘It is.’
‘Okay,’ she says, she turns a bit more, tilting her head up. He pauses, unsure of the movement. She smiles, looks at his mouth and swallows as the smile fades. It happens quickly. She moves without thought. Without thinking. Without worrying about what it means. She twists and rises to push her lips at his. Clumsy, awkward, too sudden, too fast. Hungry and needing to do it now. Just a kiss. They kissed in the ocean. Didn’t they? Did she? Neither of them know. Neither could tell what happened after. She thinks about it constantly. She has wanted to kiss him so many times. Every time she comes into his room, she wants to do it. Every hour of every day, she wants to do it. The wall she built was big and thick and it has taken months to lower it enough for this second to be right.
He freezes, completely surprised. Then he melts into it. Softening as her warm, soft lips push into his. His eyes close. His hand moves up her back to push through her hair. She pushes harder. Kissing firmer. Mouths open, tentative and slow, gently, testing, teasing, seeking confirmation that this is okay. Is it okay? It is okay. It’s more than okay.
He can feel her heart whumping through her chest. He can feel the tremble in her body. Lips part. Tongues meet. She groans at the touch of it. At the sensation. She murmurs and kisses harder, needing more. She sinks down, pulling him with her. Her hands slide over his shoulders, down his back, pulling him closer. She opens her legs to wrap round as he moves between them. Still kissing. Kissing harder. Mouths pressed. Breathing each other. He grows and stiffens. She feels it. Heat blooms. A need. An urge. A hunger inside. He does nothing without consent. He doesn’t touch or grope, but he waits and holds back. She takes the lead, needing to take the lead, needing to control the motion and what happens.
She takes his hand and guides it to her breast, then gasps at his touch. She tilts her head so he can kiss her neck, and gasps at his touch. She lifts her top and pulls it off, then gasps more as he kisses down her neck to her breasts and stomach. Everything slow. Everything safe. Everything with love and care. He comes back up, pausing to kiss as she stiffens in his mouth. The feeling is incredible. Like nothing she has ever felt before. Slow and gentle. His mouth finds hers. He doesn’t grind or push, but waits. She can feel the rigidity of him and senses the willpower exerted to resist the urge to move.
She moves. She tells him it’s okay. A tiny motion at first, and still he waits. Still he holds. He will wait forever. He will hold forever. She is brave, courageous, fearless, tough, hardened, combat-experienced, but this is new, this is different.
She moves. She tells him it’s okay. The tiny motion grows more. They kiss and touch. They hold and stay close. The heat builds. The urge grows with it. Her hand goes down to find him. Touching. Gasping at the hardness. He swallows and blinks at her touch, but still waits. That he can do that tells her the depth of his inner strength. She pushes his boxers down, freeing him. She uses her feet to slide them down his legs. She takes his hand to move it between her legs. The breath catching in her throat. Her eyes closing. Gentle. Slow. So slow.
Everything is okay. It is more than okay. She pulls her knickers down and smiles when he lowers to slide them from her legs, then smiles again when he comes back to kiss her. Naked they lie. Him between her legs. Still waiting. Still holding. Still showing he will wait forever. They kiss and breathe. Her hands run over his body. His stroke her cheeks. She moves more. Needing to move. Telling him this is okay. No need for words. No need to speak. She c
annot speak. The feeling is too much. The growing desire becoming a tangible thing to be held and nourished. She moves more, gasping again when she feels the hardness touching her. She moves again, slowly back and forth. He moves with her. Gradual, easy, gently. Nature is as life intended, and without help he finds her. She feels him holding, not going in, waiting, exerting that control. She moves to take him inside. The groan escapes her mouth, slow and long and filled with something far greater than pleasure. He is inside her. That thought captivates her for a second. That thought whirls through her mind. He is inside her. Still he holds, still he shows the greatest of respect, still he kisses gently, lovingly.
‘You okay?’ he whispers. Needing to know. Needing her to tell him this is okay.
She nods, she nods quickly, firmly, holding him. ‘Yes.’ It is okay. It’s more than okay. ‘You move,’ she breathes into his mouth, still kissing. She wants him to do it. She wants him to take control now. He has proven himself, and more. He has shown such tender care that the wall crumbles to fall away and it’s okay to be vulnerable now. It’s okay to show weakness. ‘I love you . . .’ She whispers the words, feeling the liberation of being able to show emotion, of being able to express something that otherwise causes confusion and angst. He moves, and what she felt before magnifies tenfold. Emotions surge inside. ‘I’ve always loved you . . .’
He moves. They kiss. He lowers his head to her ear; she can hear him breathing. She always wants to hear him breathing. He moves. She closes her eyes, never wanting this to end. This feeling. Never realising it could be like this. Never daring to dream this could happen.
He hasn’t said it back. Sudden worry. Sudden fear. Did she go too far? Did she say it too soon? The vulnerability shows. The fear grips.
‘I love you.’
Instant relief. She needed to hear it. He had to say it. He didn’t want to say it straight back for fear of sounding trite or cheapening the power of her words and what they meant to him, but the same emotions that she feels are inside him. She realises that, and it’s okay. It is more than okay.
He moves as he takes the control given. Understanding and knowing this is right. His body on hers. Her hands on him. He moves with a power that grows. With an intensity that builds. She moves too. She has to. Her body tells her what to do. Instinct now. Organic. Everything organic. He moves faster. She groans harder. She breathes faster. She runs her hands down to his backside that she grips and holds and guides him to move more. Still with love. Still with care.
