He thinks I don't know.
Sometimes that makes me
angry. Arrogant sod, thinks he's the only one who's got brains.
Mostly, I'm just grateful. Means we don't have to fight about it,
or worse, apologize.
How do you apologize for
something this bloody huge? Something you can't do anything about?
You don't. You're just thankful
you can keep on ignoring it.
It's about survival, about
staying cool. Lose it, start worrying about losing him, and next
thing you know....
I hate things I can't fix.
Ray thinks I don't know
he's in love with me, but I do.
He's a moron.
And I'm as bad for listening
Just a leg over, he says.
Won't mean anything, he says. Because what happens in the foxhole,
stays in the foxhole--or the tatty little hotel room, as the case
I don't know why I let him
talk me into it.
Correction. I know exactly
And now the daft sod is
twitching when I look at him, watching me when he thinks I won't
He'd better get his act
together, and his eyes off my arse.
If Bodie thinks this is
...he's dead wrong.
"You egotistical bastard!"
From the look of Ray as
he says it, I figure I'm about two words shy of getting punched
in the face.
I should keep my mouth shut.
I know I should.
Instead, I say, "Me?"
Word one. There's almost
no buffer left.
He goes white.
Don't know why he can't
just leave it, just keep on ignoring the bloody huge elephant in
the centre of the room. That's what I was doing--and very successfully,
After all, "It wasn't
me who fell in love here."
And those would be words
two through nine.
Bodie hangs on like an octopus,
like it's his life in the balance. Which it is. We're on the kitchen
floor and I can't get a hand free, but if I could, I'd kill the
Thinks he's irresistible,
Finally up on our feet,
eye to eye, gasping. Murderous. Wonder what Cowley will say when
he hears his two best operatives have beaten each other to death?
But Bodie's got that distracted,
cross-eyed look he gets when he's trying to figure out something
He says, "So...you
don't love me?"
All I have to do is agree.
Raymond Doyle gets right
up my nose. Scrawny, sarky bastard won't admit he loves me, but
can't deny it either. Don't know if I want to hit him or kiss him.
An inch from his face, my fist in his collar, and I still can't
So I kiss him.
And then I hit him.
Knock him right off his
But he's not going to stay
Tactically, my position
isn't bad. The door's at my back. If I throw the chair at him, I'll
make the street before....
Except now the daft sod's
laughing at me.
"Just a leg over,"
I say, climbing to my feet.
Bodie backs up a step.
"Won't mean anything,"
His arse hits the counter.
A glass rattles.
"What happens in the
foxhole, stays in the foxhole." Yeah, we both know who started
Bodie's eyes narrow, his
expression hardens. He's considering means of exit, avenues of attack,
available weaponry. Keep this up much longer, and he'll be handing
me my own decapitated head.
The tension between us is
electric. My time's up. There's just one thing for me to say.
"Alright, let's fuck."
Ever seen a soldier completely
Because all it takes is
one word from Ray and I'm on my knees.
Survival, my arse. I'm already
critically overcommitted. My back's to the wall--well, the kitchen
counter--and this is some kind of terrible marriage between the
Fall of Singapore and Operation Market Garden. Into the valley of
death rides one stupid git.
Not that I'm all but throwing
up the white flag already. If he doesn't slow down, this is going
to be my shortest, sorriest, campaign ever.
Mind, there are worse things
than being fucked.
Not fucked comes to mind.
Bodie throws himself face
down on my bed, as if he owns it. Correction--as if he's earned
Under the circumstances,
and considering we're both beyond exhausted, I'm not inclined to
protest. I push his legs over instead, making room for myself beside
He chuckles. "Admit
it. You love me."
I'm seriously tempted to
dump him on the floor. "You don't know what love is."
He rolls over. "Tell
you something else, too."
He's smirking, because he
knows he's right. Someday I might even admit it publicly.
I'll put it on his funeral
Ray still doesn't believe
me. Arrogant sod never will give me credit for having brains.
Doesn't matter. Doesn't
make me angry. Not anymore. He may be an arrogant sod, but now he's
my arrogant sod.
What's he saying now? Something
about an egotistical bastard? Don't know who he's talking about.
I'm charmingly modest.
It's still about survival,
about staying cool. But surviving is easier done when you've got
a mate covering your back. So to speak. Prefer to top, myself, but....
Ultimately, the important
(Could hardly help himself,
...he's the one who fell
in love first.