Love is a Stranger

by John Wiltshire

  “Hmm, lucky was just how I was feeling all night.”

  “Okay…” Ben went to work. He knew a lot of practical field medicine, and the first aid-kit was extremely well stocked. It even had a morphine pump. “You want?”

  Nikolas, as Ben now allowed him to be again in his mind, came back from some place very far away and frowned, saw what he was holding up and seemed tempted for a moment, but then shook his head. Ben put it back and handed him a handful of painkillers with some water. “We’ll give it a while, and then I’ll stitch you up. Did they hit you anywhere else?”

  Nikolas shook his head but pulled his shirt out of his ammo belt. “Did you know that the wall at the back of our house had glass embedded in it? For security, I suppose. I always wondered why that cat walked across it so carefully.” His chest was crisscrossed with glass cuts. Some had reopened and were bleeding. Ben cleaned them up and handed him some antibiotics, which he swallowed down with some more water. He looked tired now, hollowed out.

  “You want some clean clothes?”

  Nikolas nodded and lay back on the stone bench with a sigh. His leg was bleeding again.

  Ben left Nikolas lying in the early morning sun and went back in to check out his pack. It was Soviet issue, but the good kind they gave Spetsnaz. Some of the kit inside was American, some British, but most was Russian: weapons, sleeping bag, rations, and some clothes. He took only the clothes, sorted out a clean set of everything, and took them back out.

  Nikolas was asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Ben squatted down and studied the sleeping face. It was the man he knew as Nikolas, of course. But also it wasn’t, or rather Nikolas hadn’t changed at all, but Ben could now see things in the face that he hadn’t seen before—or perhaps that he could only now interpret. He’d seen only the urbane diplomat; he should’ve seen the soldier—he was there. He’d seen a man of wealth and privilege; he should’ve seen the man formed, moulded, and shaped by hardship and deprivation, for he was there as well.

  When Nikolas woke, Ben was crouching a little way away from the stone bench, cooking on his hexi stove. Nikolas sat up with a groan. Ben turned the heat down and came over, picking up the needle and thread he’d sterilized. “Ready?”

  Nikolas only grunted and turned his head away. Ben smirked. “You made all that fuss about a tiny little bite, and now you’re going to just sit there in stoic silence as I stick this huge needle in you, aren’t you?”

  Nikolas glanced back at the needle. “Stop trying to be funny and just do it.”

  He did wince a few times, and there was a lot of swearing—in Russian, Ben noted, with some amusement. Clearly, Nikolas wasn’t too bothered now about admitting his more natural choice of language. And although Ben wouldn’t swear to it—as he’d been slightly distracted since he’d woken to find Aleksey Primakov watching him—he was pretty sure Nikolas’s English had improved, too. When the procedure was over, Ben wrapped the thigh tightly and then helped Nikolas to wash and change out of his clothes and get into clean replacements. When it was all done, Nikolas sank back down onto the bench, clearly exhausted. Ben went over and fished a large steak out of the pan and handed it to him in his mess tin. Nikolas reared back. “I’m not eating that.”

  Ben nodded as if in agreement, but said, “Yeah, you are. You’ve lost a shit load of blood and you need to heal.”

  Nikolas curled his lip into a pretty nasty smile. He leant back on the bench. “No, I’m not. I have issues with food, Ben, you may have noticed, and do you know what? I think I’ll tell you why, because I’m sick of you nagging me to do things I don’t want to do. I was the youngest in a prison camp of two hundred men. I got fed if I was good. You get my meaning, I assume. So, for you to tell me that food is like sex—all good—wasn’t appreciated. Now, leave me the fuck alone, and take that thing away.”

  Ben studied him for a while. “You didn’t drag your butt across the moors in the dark last night with two hundred pounds on your back because you want to die. You want to live, Aleksey, you always have. So I suggest you eat that, or when they come for you, and they are coming for you, they’ll take you, and then what you went through in those camps will be like holiday memories. You trained these men; you know what they’ll do to you. It’s your choice. This,” he pointed at the steak, “is not food; it’s ammunition. It’s power.” He shrugged. “But it’s your choice.”

  He went back to the stove, forked up his own steak, and began chewing it. When Nikolas had eaten all of his, Ben slid a couple of eggs onto his plate as well with some buttered bread. Nikolas looked faintly sick, but he ate all that too.

  When Nikolas tried to lie back on the bench once more, Ben shook his head. “Bed.” He took Nikolas’s arm, levered him to his feet, and helped him limp painfully up to the bedroom. Nikolas lay down on Ben’s sleeping mat, and his eyes began to close involuntarily. Suddenly, from a corner of the room, Radulf appeared. He eyed the supine figure for a moment then lay down alongside him. Ben chuckled. “The dog recognises you, anyway.”

  Nikolas turned his head, pain and exhaustion etched clearly on his face. “And you?”

  Ben leant over him and said distinctly, “I never really knew you, did I? So to me you are exactly the same annoying bastard you’ve always been.” Then Ben kissed him. As he eased his lips away from Nikolas’s he slid them to his ear and added in a whisper, “It’s only the bullet wounds that are keeping me from fucking you until your leg isn’t the only thing throbbing badly. Take that thought into sleep with you…” With that, he left Nikolas to the deep, healing sleep that he needed.

  §§§

  Unfortunately for all three of them, painkillers, antibiotics, stress, pain, and unfamiliar food didn’t mix well. In the middle of the night, Nikolas semi-woke and vomited everything he’d eaten over pretty much anything in reach—which included Radulf. Ben, who was sleeping in the other bag across the room from him, held his head, which was pretty much all he could do until he helped Nikolas from the ruined sleeping bag, stripped him, washed him, and dressed him in clean clothes once more. He then tucked him in his sleeping bag in another room. Radulf, he took to the stream and immersed. He’d never seen a dog in shock before. He wrung out the cute bandana, retied it and took the shivering creature for a moonlit walk to the top of the tor. They sat for an hour, Radulf shaking, Ben crying, and then they came down and pretended none of it had happened. By the time Nikolas woke again in the morning, everything had been cleared up, all the kit was hanging to dry on gorse bushes, and Radulf was, once more, lying bravely by his side. Ben watched as Nikolas put a tentative hand to the dog’s head. “Wolf of the House?” Radulf banged his tail on the floor in agreement.

  Ben was in the garden when Nikolas finally emerged. He squinted into the sun and sat back once more on the bench. Ben handed him a drink of water, which he took gratefully. Nikolas was wearing just the boxers and T-shirt Ben had found for him in the dark, so it was easy for Ben to crouch and examine his leg. It didn’t look good—red around the wounds—so he gave him some more antibiotics. “You’ll have to go to the hospital if these don’t work soon.”

  “You know that’s not possible.”

  “There may be fragments left in there.”

  “Stop being melodramatic. It’s just a scratch.”

  Ben looked pointedly at all the kit drying in the sun and said stonily, “You’re maybe not the best person to judge? Your whole reality has been screwed since you were ten. So don’t argue with me, yeah?”

  Nikolas frowned. “Why do you say that? I’m the sanest person I know—you included.”

  “Jesus. Do you listen to yourself? What other ten-year-old was in the hospital with internal injuries or being taken to executions? Torture camps? Seriously, that isn’t normal, and it’s not right.”

  Nikolas laughed. “Where did you hear that from—? Ah, Kate, of course. It’s ridiculous. I made a perfectly acceptable deal with the devil, and the devil always keeps his word. I had the best of everythi
ng. The finest academies for my education, I travelled to learn languages, I had tutors, swimming lessons, music, horses…I was indulged and spoilt. What you say is ridiculous.”

  “Huh. Well, I’m wrong then. So, what was the deal you made with the devil, Aleksey? Aged ten?”

  Nikolas tried to stand, but his leg gave out, and he sat back down, pale. “It was hardly a sacrifice for all that I was given—to be my brother for him. You shouldn’t have asked Kate. Women do not understand these things. They are soft and think always with their wombs.”

  “Huh, well that’s the first thing I always think about Kate, that she’s thinking with her womb. So…being your brother for him, in this easy, normal deal…exactly how did you do that then? Or maybe the question should be where did you have to do that?”

  “You clearly think you already know. Leave me be. I’m sick.”

  “You are if you think what your father did to you is acceptable.”

  “He gave me everything. He made me. What sacrifice was it to be in his bed when he wanted me…?” He stopped and frowned then murmured, “No, Nikolas. I forget myself sometimes. He wanted Nikolas. He thought I was Nikolas. Ack, Aleksey would have killed him for the things he made him do. For the pain.” He put a hand to his forehead. “I think I am sick. I am Aleksey. Am I Aleksey?” With that, Nikolas tumbled backward off the bench, and it was only Ben’s quick reactions that prevented his head from hitting the stone flags of the old patio. Ben hefted him up onto his shoulder and carried him back to the makeshift bed and wondered what he should do. Nikolas was very hot, his leg was swelling, and he’d already been sick once. He decided to wait it out. He went to fetch a bowl of cool water and sat alongside the mat while Nikolas ranted in his fever. He caught a word or two when they were in English or French, but the Danish and Russian were too quick and garbled to follow. He appeared to be talking to people as if he could actually see them standing there in the room. So vivid were Nikolas’s hallucinations Ben found himself looking over his shoulder once or twice, and the skin on his scalp crawled as if being touched by unseen fingers. Radulf, wolf of the house, he noticed, was nowhere to be seen.

  The fever broke in the early hours of the following morning. A very pale and very wan Nikolas opened his eyes and took a deep breath. Ben was almost asleep with his head on the bare chest, one arm over the thin waist. Nikolas pushed his fingers into Ben’s tousled hair and tugged him fully awake, and, before Ben was really cognisant, drew him up for a kiss.

  It broke both of them.

  Ben was the first to admit it, pulling away to stop the tears coming, trying to control his breathing, but Nikolas wasn’t far behind and, apparently, even less used to having such emotion overwhelm him. He appeared utterly unable to work out what to do, finally just throwing an arm over his face for privacy and letting the tears run.

  Ben recovered first; Nikolas needed him. He lay down next to the distraught man, his face pushed into the crook of Nikolas’s shoulder, and just stroked his thumb over the prominent, wet cheekbones until the frightening crying eased. Finally, he lifted his head and murmured wryly, “So I guess we can drop the pretence that you don’t want me?” Nikolas gave a long shuddering breath and took his arm away.

  “I understand my feelings well enough. It’s you that I cannot fathom. Why are you here, Benjamin?”

  Ben kissed the cheekbone he’d been stroking. “Well the house was full of dead Russians, so I kinda had nowhere else to go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Nikolas wanted to sit outside in the sun and fresh air, so Ben helped him limp to the bench. He left him sitting there while he went to boil some water. He came back with another set of clean clothes, the water, and Nikolas’s shaving kit. “You want some help?” Nikolas shrugged. Ben shook his head. “Nope, gonna need more encouragement than that.”

  Nikolas gave him a look that was so derisive and so familiar they both laughed, and that was even more familiar still. Ben bent down to begin the shave, but Nikolas caught him around the back of the neck and finished the kiss he’d begun earlier.

  That was the most familiar of all.

  While he was holding Nikolas’s face, running the razor over his stubble, Ben asked deceptively casually, “Why didn’t you just tell me, Nik?”

  Nikolas was watching him carefully, the shaving forcing intimacy. “I didn’t know where to start. I tried once or twice but…” He shrugged and said a lot in that small gesture.

  Ben wasn’t prepared to have to work this out, however; he wanted to hear it in words. He gave Nikolas the silent treatment for the rest of the shave, and apparently hearing plenty in this, Nikolas was forced to continue, “You can understand, Ben, that there are many aspects of my story I wouldn’t like to talk about. I didn’t want you to see me in that light. I shot my father, what sort of—?”

  “Fucking hell. You’re lying again.” He sat back on his heels, the razor dangling soapy from his fingers. “Your brother shot your father!” He resumed the shaving and hissed under his breath, “What is wrong with you, Nik?”

  Nikolas held his wrist still and lifted his fathomless, dark eyes to Ben’s. “Kate? I shall have to rethink her employment.” Ben eased his wrist away from the tight hold and continued the shave. He didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched uncomfortably once more. Finally, Nikolas snapped, “You want to know? All right, I’ll tell you. He had a place at Kobenhavns Universitet—university in Copenhagen…”

  “Yeah, thanks for the translation. I’ve only been learning Danish for four months, so I missed that.”

  Nikolas laughed at his stony words and expression, and Ben glanced up at him more, contritely. Nikolas ruffled his hair. “And we both know how well that has been going. I shall have to start teaching you. I taught…” He trailed off and swallowed, frowning. Ben suddenly felt an intense stab of pity for this man he’d been so furious with only a moment ago. Who was he to push Nikolas into these sad memories? He was about to tell him to forget it, to keep his secrets if they caused him so much pain to share, when Nikolas continued, “My father said he had to stay in Moscow and attend university there. Nika didn’t want to. Perhaps he feared our father was tiring of me. I was seventeen and not so amenable as I’d once been.”

  Ben laid down the razor. “Nikolas knew? He knew what was going on between…?”

  Nikolas shrugged.

  “When did he find out? My God, did he know from the beginning?”

  Nikolas frowned and tried to dismiss the import of the question with his familiar hand gesture, but Ben caught his wrist so he was forced to grind out, “Of course. I missed much school in the early days. And we did talk, you know.” He suddenly smiled and it was like a light shinning in a very dark place. “At school we could only speak to each other for almost a whole term as no one spoke Danish and we, of course, couldn’t speak Russian. It was funny. I made Nika swear at all the teachers in Danish…” He pouted and became silent, lost in memories.

  Ben couldn’t think what to say. He squatted in front of Nikolas, silent, thoughtful, and began to unwrap the bandaging around his thigh. He needed some time to process the things Nikolas had told him. Nikolas’s fingers came to his hair and began to comb through the dark strands. The wounds were fearsome things on the pale flesh, and Nikolas was clearly in some pain. Ben breathed out slowly. There wasn’t much else he could do. “Okay, we’re going to try eating again—but something simple, yeah?”

  Nikolas nodded, apparently glad to do anything to distract himself from the pain, even eat. He accepted a cheese sandwich without complaint. Ben glanced at him. “Where were you when he did it—shot him?”

  Nikolas continued to chew his sandwich for a minute, probably thinking up a suitable lie. “I had had a disagreement with my father about the universities. I, too, wanted Nika to stay in Denmark. I was—” He waved his hand dismissively. “I couldn’t attend the party.”

  “You were…?”

  “Bleeding, Benjamin. I was bleeding too badly, but fortunately for
us, this only added veracity—is that the right word, is that English? Yes, veracity. It added veracity to my confession. They believed he’d gone too far at last—beating me—and that I had retaliated—shooting him. See, as you would say, fate. God in heaven, I’m tired again. Why am I tired again?” He began to lie back on the bench, but Ben caught his arm.

  “Come inside and sleep properly.”

  Nikolas resisted. “No, I want to stay outside. I don’t like to sleep in there. Too many—I prefer the sun.”

  Ben relented and let him lie down on the grass in the shade of a tree. Nikolas put an arm over his face and prepared to endure the pain. Ben left him alone for a couple of hours while he did some more admin and checked supplies, and then he woke him with a light meal of the rest of the fresh food. Nikolas turned slightly to favour his bad leg and propped himself up on one elbow. Bay lay down alongside him, feeding pieces of sausage to Radulf. Nikolas was watching him, a curious expression on his face. “So…Benjamin…you’ve taken advantage of my weakened state to make me talk too much about things I wouldn’t wish you to know, but you haven’t told me anything.” He glanced away for a moment. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”