It is raining in Copenhague, the day that Kaecilius dies; he stands at the window in the bedroom of the house he has lived for years, looking out at the ocean, calm and familiar. The pain grips his chest, a sharp, stabbing sensation that seems to spread through his entire body as he slips to the floor. His gaze falls on the pictures at the side of the bed, his son at different ages, and just one singular photograph of a girl of almost three years old. But there’s one photo his eyes linger on, that of a young man with brown curls and bright blue eyes, Stephen Strange.
He closes his eyes; the taste of vodka lingers bitterly on his tongue. He hears laughter in his ears, remembers striking blue eyes looking at him, remembers the feeling of wanting to protect him, remembers the nights in that tent, the rough kisses and his body by his side.
There are other memories too, ones he hasn’t allowed himself to think of for years; blood, so much blood and blue eyes looking at him with fear.
It all washes away in the end.
In the end, there is only darkness.
Forty Years Earlier
Adria clutches Kaecilius’s hand, her face buried against his shoulder, her tears soaking through his shirt. She clings to him as they walk down the corridor and out into hospital car park, as if she would just fall to the ground if he wasn’t there to hold her up.
He has to be strong; hold himself together for her, but inside it’s as if he’s breaking, everything good slipping away. The life they made together is now irreversibly fractured, and Kaecilius doesn’t know what to do. His mind lingers on the last few days, wondering if there was something he could have done, if he should have noticed earlier. She was fine, she was strong and perfect and happy; the illness had swept over her so quickly, she had left them so suddenly.
Kaecilius sits in the nursery that night, when Adria has finally fallen into an exhausted sleep – he sits there and lets himself weep.
The letter arrives a week later, a government stamp standing out starkly against the pale cream of the envelope, the ink smudged slightly. Kaecilius reads it out solemnly in their kitchen, glancing out of the window at the bruising sky. It’s only ever military planes in the air these days, since the conflict began several months ago; they fly low, the sound deafening, it makes the glasses in the cupboard rattle.
He expected this moment, since the day he turned on the television and saw the announcement that National Service was being reinstated. Kaecilius doesn’t feel anything, maybe he should feel fear or some similar feeling but he doesn’t.
“Two years, initially” he says, finally looking at Adria.
“I love you so much, Kaecilius” she says hugging him.
He holds her tighter.
I.
Stephen looks at himself in the mirror, smoothing down the lapels of his uniform before gelling his hair into place.
It’s February, the middle of a harsh, grey, British winter. He’s anxious to leave, to do his part, putting himself forward as a volunteer even before the Conscription.
He just finished med school and he doesn’t think about the realities of war, he just wants to help.
His granddad had frowned at him, when Stephen had relayed the news, a look crossing his face that Stephen hadn’t seen before, a rarely heard anger in his voice. “It’s not a game, Stephen, you don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like, to lose people.”
“No. But I want to help,” he’d said.
He doesn’t want to think about losing people, he wants to think about winning, about doing the right thing, saving people.
And, he would never admit it, but part of him wants to be a hero.
*
The desert is exactly like Stephen thought it would be, the heat is stifling, the sand gets everywhere; there’s a beauty to it that is enhanced somehow by its deadliness.
Their camp is outside the city, at the edge of the dunes. They stretch out into the distance, as far as the eye can see; so much emptiness. Stephen knows that the enemy camp is on the other side of that vast expanse of sand; only the enemy , he doesn’t allow himself to think of them as people, he can’t do that. That would mean opening yourself up to vulnerability, to certain death.
He’s been here almost three months, experienced two terrifying and bloody raids. All thoughts of being a hero have gone out the window. The brief period of training he received back in England was little preparation for this, for the grit in your eyes, the flies that seem to constantly buzz around you.
He lies on his bed in the small tent that he shares with one other soldier, glancing at the photographs he’s tacked up to the canvas; pictures of his Mum, his Dad and his girlfriend Christine. He misses them more than he imagined. He’s written them a couple of letters, but he’s run out of things to say now. When there’s nothing good to say, why bother saying anything at all?
His roommate seems have the same problem. He rarely writes, nor does he have any photographs. Kaecilius is seven years older than him, he is quite serious and seems to be tired of life since before the war.
He swings his legs over the edge of his bed and looks towards his roommate, expectantly. “Kaecilius, you coming for food, man?”
The ash blonde shrugs, stretching out on his bed for a moment before pulling his boots on. They walk in silence together towards the Mess.
Kaecilius is a mystery to Stephen, he never gives anything away. He keeps to himself most of the time, never offering any information about his life back home; he doesn’t join in with any social activities unless he’s practically forced to, if they are given any leave he’ll disappear into the town by himself, turning down any invitations. Stephen wonders if he’s really that much of an asshole, or if it’s because he’s wary of getting close to people in case they’re killed.
There had been one boy, who looked no more than seventeen…Stephen had flown out with him from England, chatted to him on the journey – he had been the first casualty of their squadron. He was just a kid. Stephen tries not to think of it.
It feels like a cruel joke, the way they have all just casually entered into this. There are some men amongst them who are real army, here to ensure that people like himself and Kaecilius and that poor kid have some chance of success out here, some possibility of surviving. They look down on the rest of them, like they’re lesser human beings somehow by not choosing this life in peacetime, by only being thrust into it now. Stephen doesn’t give a shit. He’s here because his country needs him to be here. He’ll do what needs to be done.
They take a seat in the Mess, Kaecilius sitting opposite Stephen at the end of the long wooden bench. It feels like being at school, in the canteen.
Kaecilius looks down at the unidentifiable stew, pushing it around the plate with his fork.He pushes the plate away, finishing his soda in silence, trying to ignore how he’s being watched.
It’s irritating as hell, having a roommate like Stephen. At first it was his enthusiasm, the stupid, naïve smile that was forever pasted on his face. He had become everyone’s friend almost instantly, he could fall into step with anyone in the camp and no one ever told him he wasn’t welcome, he would flirt with the female officers with no fear of rejection or recrimination, although he hear him say he has a girlfriend in England; it was as if it was all an adventure to him, a game. At least, that’s what he was like in the beginning. He still tried to project that image, but now Stephen had the same haunted look in his eyes that the rest of them did.
Kaecilius heard him sometimes, biting back tears in the dead of night. He had wanted to say something, to make him feel better, but…when you’re numb inside how can you offer any comfort to anyone else? It was easier to ignore Stephen, to ignore them all except for when they’re following orders.
He barely thinks of his old life these days, his home, Adria and their daughter seems part of another life. Here there is only an endless desert of death from which there seems to be no escape.
He runs a hand through his hair, cropped short now.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he snaps, as Stephen frowns at him. He shoves the tray of half eaten food away, Stephen reaching out a hand to steady it from falling to the floor. Kaecilius stalks off, barely aware of the footsteps behind him until he feels a hand on his shoulder. He spins round to face Stephen as they step outside, the desert air hitting them like a warm, suffocating blanket. Anger flashes in Kaecilius’s eyes; he tries to ignore the concern he sees etched on Stephen’ face.
“If you want me to stop being worried about you then maybe you should stop acting like such an arsehole.”
“I’m here to fight a war not make friends.” Kaecilius says.
“We’re all here for that but it wouldn’t kill you to be nice.”
Kaecilius doesn’t answer him; he walks off in the direction of their tent, leaving Stephen standing there alone in the shadows of the setting sun.
II.
They are on watch together later that evening, the two of them silently staring out into the night as the rockets fire in the distance, the air strikes raging on. Kaecilius holds his rifle tightly, stares through his night-vision glasses; they turn the night as red as the blood that seems permanently etched into his hands. He hasn’t been sleeping well these days.
“Want some?” Stephen asks when they are finally relieved of their posts, pulling a bottle of vodka out from inside his pillowcase and waving it at Kaecilius. They sit down opposite each other in the dark.
“Where did you get that?”
“Traded for it – you can do that kind of thing when you have friends.”
Kaecilius laughs, but there’s little humour in it. “I’m not here to make friends,” he says with a grin, and accepts the bottle anyway, taking a long swallow. The liquid burns his throat. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” he says, guiltily, because for some reason he cares about Stephen. “It’s just, fuck, I think we’re all doomed here.”
Stephen is silent now and Kaecilius watches him. Although he doesn’t like men, he can tell that Stephen is beautiful with bright blue eyes and soft brown curls.
“I’m worried about you,” Stephen says after a moment, “you never talk to me unless you have to, you never talk to anyone. It’s not good. How do I know you’re not about to go crazy and kill me in my sleep?” he jokes.
Kaecilius musters a half smile at that. “Stephen, I can assure you I’m not going to kill you. I’m tired.”
Stephen nods in agreement, his heart heavy with dismay, because he figures if he can just keep Kaecilius talking for a while he might actually get somewhere, get him to open up a little.
“Kaecilius,” Stephen whispers later as he lies awake; he can hear the distant sound of gunfire, if he tries really hard he can almost pretend that it’s just fireworks, lighting up the desert sky.
“Yeah”
“What did you do, before this?”
Kaecilius doesn’t answer for so long that Stephen almost thinks he’s fallen asleep. “I was an engineer,” he says, eventually, “you?”
“I just finished med school.”
“Congratulations, it’s a great career, I wanted to be a psychiatrist before deciding on engineering,” Kaecilius says, and Stephen grins, because that’s the first bit of personal information he’s offered up voluntarily in the whole time they’ve been out here.
“Thank you” he says, remembering the day of his graduation. It seems like another lifetime, another world almost. “Night, Kaecilius,” he whispers, staring over at his roommate in the dark.
“Goodnight, Stephen.”
III.
It is slow at first, the change in Kaecilius, a gradual thaw as the Autumn turns into Winter. He is still defensive, but little by little he lets Stephen closer, seeping beneath his skin and breathing life back into him.
They play cards in the afternoons when they aren’t on duty, Stephen watching Kaecilius carefully, trying to ignore the way that his heart races in his chest whenever Kaecilius looks him in the eye, that strange fluttering sensation that seems to build in his stomach.
“I was thinking how, if this was the last war we would be on opposite sides,” Kaecilius says one day.
Stephen can’t process that thought. He had resented Kaecilius in the beginning, feeling pissed off that he hadn’t been put in a room with one of the other Brits, now he finds himself wanting to be near Kaecilius, thinking up ways to be alone with him, to pull him into a conversation. Now, every second with him feels like sort of like an unexpected gift.
“I can’t imagine ever hurting you,” Stephen says before clamping his mouth shut, worrying he’s giving too much away.
“Me neither, but you would have, and so would I.” Kaecilius looks him in the eye, and it is new, the tension that stretches between them. Neither man looks away.
IV.
Kaecilius pushes open the door to the gym – if it can be called that – really it’s just a tent with a few weights in. It’s early, just after sunrise; Kaecilius awoke to find the tent they shared empty, relieved at the revelation of having survived another night.
He knows Stephen hasn’t been sleeping, has heard him shout out from within the nightmares that plague him. It’s been that way ever since the mortars fell a couple of months ago and he’d found Stephen hiding under the table in the Mess, shaky hands gripping his rifle as he shivered in terror, bodies strewn across the room like life sized action figures, half the structure destroyed. Kaecilius had crawled under there with him, holding him close until it was over. They hadn’t talked about it, after.
It’s easier if you don’t talk about it.
Kaecilius watches now as Stephen lies on the bench, raising the bar above his head, arms straining with the effort of the weights. There’s so much strength within his body, yet such vulnerability too. Kaecilius can’t help but think that he is the only one that sees it, that Stephen is different with him.
Maybe it’s because they share a tent and there’s nowhere to really hide; but there’s the side that Stephen displays to the rest of the squadron and then there’s the other Stephen, the one that Kaecilius now stays up talking with late into the night, who is kind and funny and really believes that being here is the right thing, even if it kills him.
There’s the Stephen who looks at him sometimes with a heat in his gaze that Kaecilius doesn’t want to decipher.
He watches Stephen now, sweat glistening on his skin, the muscles of his stomach taut beneath his t-shirt with each rep. Kaecilius wonders how it would feel to touch him. But the thought is unwelcome in his head, and he leaves in silence before Stephen can see him, his heart racing.
*
The campaign stretches on, weeks dissolving into months. Wherever Kaecilius is, Stephen is too. They sit close to each other in briefings, their hands brush together almost involuntarily as they sit and watch the entertainment that’s been put on in the evenings.
Stephen hug him, and Kaecilius feels something almost painful unfurl within his chest as he is hugged. He feels better , he realises, around Stephen, his heart is lighter, the bitter ache of loss and loneliness doesn’t sting quite as much as it used to. Kaecilius feels guilty with that realisation, he wonders how Adria is doing, if she’s alright. He hardly thinks about her or him past.
In November, Stephen is seconded out to another regiment on a six week mission. Kaecilius watches as the convoy disappears into the distance under the velvet blanket of night.
The days are long without him.
Kaecilius lies awake, listening for the steady sound of Stephen’ breathing, but it is no longer there. It crosses his mind that he might not come back, but that thought is too unbearable. He pushes it away. He keeps busy. He has to. They all do.
One solitary evening when he isn’t on watch he depletes Stephen’ stash of vodka, his mind hazy and limbs sluggish as he crawls into the bed on the wrong side of the tent, the scratchy sheets that still hold traces of the scent of Stephen’ skin. He buries his face in Stephen’ pillow, and hopes.
*
It rains in the desert, the night that Stephen returns; fat heavy drops that sting at Kaecilius’s skin and soak his hair, it feels wonderful, like a miracle after the stiflingly hot, dry months. The whole squadron stands out in it, linking arms in a haphazard, joyful dance, tears in their eyes for the men who haven’t returned.
When they find themselves alone, Stephen throws his arms around Kaecilius, the two of them laughing, droplets of water dripping from hair.
Kaecilius never thought he could be so excited about something as simple as rain, but there is something exalting and wonderful about this night, about having his colleagues back here, at having Stephen back.
“I missed you,” Kaecilius confesses. “How was it?”
“You don’t want to know,” Stephen says, and his eyes look darker somehow, filled with the brutality of the desert, of the things he’s done, the things they’ve all done.
“Did you really miss me?” Stephen whispers, a heartbeat later. Kaecilius shrugs “a bit.” He shivers a little, looking away and starting to strip off his damp clothes.
Stephen averts his eyes. “I missed you, too,” he says. His limbs ache with exhaustion, the miles he walked through the desert taking their toll, the faces of the men who hadn’t made it back sticking in his mind. He can’t erase them, those faces, they are etched there permanently.
“I could get in with you,” Stephen suggests as Kaecilius pulls back the sheets of his bed, “just for warmth, it’s fucking freezing tonight. I never imagined it could get so cold here.”
Kaecilius surveys him, warily, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says, but he leaves the covers open when he climbs into bed, and that’s all the invitation Stephen needs. Kaecilius faces away from him, every muscle in his body tense. He flinches when he feels Stephen settle in beside him, Stephen’ hand resting on his shoulder.
Their bodies fit together so perfectly, as if they are two puzzle pieces, being fitted back together after being wrenched apart. Stephen feels Kaecilius slowly relax against him, he runs his fingers along Kaecilius’s side, pulling him close. Kaecilius grabs his hand, and for a second Stephen is worried he’s going to push him away, but instead Kaecilius threads their fingers together, squeezing tightly.
It is overwhelming, the feeling of being close to him, He finally feels whole after a long time. The warmth of Stephen’ body soaks through Kaecilius’s skin, and he almost feels like crying.
They don’t speak of it, in the morning.
They don’t speak of it at all.
V.
The rebel fighters take the Citadel on Kaecilius’s birthday; a thousand years of history reduced to rubble. The shelling echoes in his ears, it’s always so loud, so much chaos and shouting. They are chasing him, weapons raised, firing straight at him. Kaecilius throws a grenade and then runs, turning back at the moment it explodes, blood flying everywhere, men lying limbless and screaming in pain.
He closes his eyes for a moment to try and clear his head, he can almost feel Stephen’s breath on his cheek, can hear his voice. It almost feels as if time stands still, sound rushing through his mind as he grips the gun.
Kaecilius hears his voice called from far away, feels a hand on his arm, shaking him.
“Kaecilius, you’re okay man, come on, we need to go.” Kaecilius blinks a few times, tries to focus; blue eyes gaze at him in concern. “You’re okay,” Stephen says again and he feels relief, as Stephen slips a gloved hand into his, guiding them both towards the shelter of one of the few remaining walls.
Kaecilius leans his head back, breathing heavily as the fear ebbs and flows within him.
“Look at me” Stephen whispers; Kaecilius clutches at his hand, slowly focuses on him, he’s here, he’s real.
“We’re together and we’ll be alright.” Kaecilius pulls him close, wrapping his arm around him and resting their foreheads together.
It has quietened around them, it will be okay, Kaecilius thinks. He tries to ignore how good it feels having Stephen pressed against him, how it feels right, that warm fluttering sensation in his stomach – and more than that, the overwhelming need he has for Stephen to be okay. He can’t do it without Stephen, can’t be here, can’t face every new, hellish day without Stephen at his side.
When the stars have come out and it’s safe to move, Kaecilius draws back, looking into Stephen’ eyes, blue and stormy in the dusty night. If this was another time, another place, back in the safety of their real lives, they never would have met.
It’s a thought that strings through Kaecilius’s mind, filling him with an emotion he doesn’t quite understand.
VI.
It’s scorchingly hot as they wander through the Medina, even in the shade of the narrow, winding streets. Locals sell their wares from the cramped shopfronts, grudgingly coexisiting alongside the soldiers that are stationed all around. It is under Allied control, now, and you can sense it in the atmosphere.
They sit in a quiet square, drinking beer straight from the bottle, heavy palm fronds shade the tables, water trickles steadily from the beautifully mosaicked fountain in the centre of the courtyard. It feels almost peaceful.
“I’ll get these,” Kaecilius says, reaching for his wallet as the waiter walks over. They somehow managed to get a day’s leave together, the first in months.
It feels good to get away from the camp, to have beer that is actually cold and food that hasn’t been sitting in a tin for months.
The simple things seem to matter more, these days.
“Cute kid,” Stephen says, glancing at the tiny picture in Kaecilius’s wallet as he opens it; “your daughter?”
The smile falls from Kaecilius’s face, “she died,” he whispers, “a few months before I came out here. She was ill.”
“I’m so sorry,” Stephen says, and it stings so badly, the hurt he feels at the pain that crosses Kaecilius’s face. It almost feels as if he’s unlocked part of the puzzle that is Kaecilius, it makes more sense now. Stephen just stares as Kaecilius slips his sunglasses back on and folds the picture away.
“Let’s get out of here, yeah.” Kaecilius says, leaving a few coins on the table.
They walk through the winding maze of alleyways, the cloying scent of leather being tanned fills the air. In some places the way becomes so narrow that they have to walk single file, and Stephen finds himself watching Kaecilius as he walks on ahead. It’s so weird, seeing him in civilian clothes; tan shorts and a white linen shirt that seems to float around him. Who are you? – he wonders, and he’d ask, but he knows he’d never get a straight answer, Kaecilius gives of himself only what he can, which is very little. Stephen thinks of that, as they walk along. It plays on his mind, the realisation that Kaecilius has let him closer than anyone else in the year they’ve been out here.
His eyes are drawn to the sway of Kaecilius’s hips, the strength of his arms. It’s hard to look away. It is impossible; and when Kaecilius turns to look back at him, he reacts almost involuntarily, reaching for Kaecilius’s hand and pulling him into the doorway of a secluded courtyard.
“Stephen, what are you—” Kaecilius starts to say, but the words die in his throat at the look in Stephen’ blue eyes. He looks down at Stephen’ hands, now resting on his hips, they haven’t been this close to each other before, except for that one night after the storm; Kaecilius thinks of it now, the feel of Stephen’ hands on his bare skin. It’s just loneliness, Kaecilius tells himself, nothing more, just the base human desire for physical contact with another person.
That’s all it is, he thinks, as Stephen’ mouth closes over his own, their lips brushing against each other softly for a moment before Stephen forces his tongue past Kaecilius’s lips.
Kaecilius tries to suppress a moan, but he can’t quite contain it; nothing has felt this good in his life, nothing has made him feel like this.
“I’ve been thinking about doing that ever since the night I left for the mission,” Stephen says, against Kaecilius’s lips, “it was all I thought about, coming back here to you.”
Kaecilius says nothing, but it is him who initiates the kiss this time, pressing Stephen back against the wall.
“It’s crazy,” Stephen whispers as they drive back out to the camp later that evening, “we’re in the middle of a war and I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier in my whole life than I do right now.”
He watches as the sun slips down over the horizon, glancing across at Kaecilius. The Danish’s hand is resting on his thigh; they share a smile.
“I’ll keep you safe, I promise,” Kaecilius whispers later that night, glancing at the sleeping form of Stephen. He presses his lips to Stephen’s shoulder, and the British stirs in his sleep, shifting in his embrace, turning so they are facing each other. Kaecilius strokes a hand down his back, still damp with sweat, his skin glistening in the soft glow of the moonlight that creeps in through the gaps in the canvas.
This is what love really feels like, Kaecilius realises.
VII.
The two years evaporate in the blink of an eye.
Stephen thinks of home, of the grey English streets, of his family and his girlfriend. He listens with a heavy heart to the news reports that describe more attacks in London and countless dead; some of the names are read out and he finds himself holding his breath. Kaecilius’s fingers curl around his, concern and understanding in his brown eyes.
Another city nearby falls to the enemy, they are getting closer by the day, cannon fire echoing through the night.
They can’t return home, not for at least another year.
That night Stephen lies in Kaecilius’s arms, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He can’t explain it…he wants…he wants to see his family again, and Christine, and his friends, he wants the world to go back to how it used to be – yet at the same time, part of him had felt relief at the announcement that their time here was being extended, because staying here means staying with Kaecilius.
Stephen can’t imagine it, not being with Kaecilius; his is the first face that Stephen sees at the start of every day, he trusts Kaecilius with his life, and has put his safety in the his hands countless times. He knows Kaecilius trusts him too, but at the back of his mind that thought lingers on, the knowledge that one day soon (perhaps not as soon as they thought, but one day), Kaecilius will leave him. Kaecilius will leave him and go back to the life he had before.
Stephen can no longer remember before, it feels like a foreign concept now.
“It’s alright,” Kaecilius whispers, leaning down to kiss him softly on the mouth. Stephen takes Kaecilius’s face in his hands as they kiss. Kaecilius’s dick is still inside him, softening now. Stephen winces when their bodies disengage, but he misses the feeling almost instantly, he wants to be as close to Kaecilius as possible, their bodies melding together until they are almost one person.
He could lose himself in this, and it’s terrifying because how can he keep his head straight and do his job when he feels like he’s constantly on the verge of falling apart.
“Can I ask you something?” Stephen says, pulling away from Kaecilius’s embrace, “and I want you to tell me the truth, Kaecilius. This…us…is it just because of where we are, because you’re lonely? Is it just someone to fuck to make life easier?”
Kaecilius sighs, glancing at Stephen and then away again. It would be easier, to say that this is just sex to swallow up the emptiness, that they are just friends and colleagues making each other feel better, that this is safer and easier than going into the city and visiting the brothels like some of their squadron do. It would be easier – if that was all this was.
“Kaecilius?”
“It’s more than that. Look, don’t make me talk about what this is, or what it means, Stephen. Just, know that it’s more.”
“I think I’m in love with you.”
I’m also in love with you Kaecilius thinks but says nothing.
Stephen tries to ignore how Kaecilius is shifting away from him, putting distance between their bodies. Think was just a security blanket, what he should have said was I am, I know I am and I know you are too, just fucking admit it.
“Whatever, man.”
“Stephen—”
“Leave it, Kaecilius. Forget I asked.”
“Stephen, I’m married, where do you think this is going? Don’t be such a fucking child about it.”
Stephen is pulling on his t-shirt, when he stops abruptly, turning to look back at Kaecilius. His blue eyes shining wetly. “You don’t get it, do you. It’s been months since I received a letter from Christine, I don’t know if she’s still waiting for me. I have nothing to go back to. You’re all I’ve got.”
“Your family, they—”
“They haven’t replied to any of my letters in months. They were in London, Kaecilius. It barely even exists anymore.”
Kaecilius stares at him in shock. “Why didn’t you say anything? You should have—”
“I didn’t want to bother you with my crap, you have enough of your own.”
“I wish you would have said,” Kaecilius says, sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheet draped around him.
Stephen walks over to him, fingers stroking down his face, cupping his jaw. The anger has ebbed out of him now, he doesn’t really know what is left.
“I need you, Kaecilius,” Stephen whispers, kneeling on the floor and leaning his forehead against Kaecilius’s. Their fingers link together. “I can’t do it without you.”
“I’m here,” Kaecilius whispers back. It’s not enough, but at least it’s something.
*
The end begins in April. The unit advances deeper into the desert, they watch as the casualties grow, as their unit loses people. The Allies are growing stronger though, Kaecilius feels the end growing closer, feels the pull of home.
The convoy trundles along the dusty road, stars shimmering across the night sky. Undercover of darkness it is easier to move, however less easy to see your surroundings, easier to be taken by surprise. The intelligence had pointed to there being no rebels in that particular area, however the intel was wrong, Kaecilius realises as the shots echo out.
The truck he is in skids to a halt as the driver slumps forward over the steering wheel. It is so quick, halting movements and shouts; Kaecilius shelters behind the truck, firing when there’s a safe moment to do so. He sees one of the men fall. There aren’t many of the rebels, not as many as the soldiers they are trying to take on, he thinks. It’ll be okay. He repeats it like a mantra in his head. They will be fine. The war is almost won. It will all be fine.
There are three of Kaecilius’s squadron on the ground when the shooting stops. His heart is pounding as he looks around for Stephen, everything flashing before him like it’s happening in slow motion. Their eyes meet, a look of terror and relief and understanding passing between them.
It is just one second, a movement in the undergrowth, a blast of gunfire. One of Kaecilius’s colleagues takes out the rebel fighter who fired the shot instantly, but Kaecilius doesn’t even notice; his eyes are fixed on his lover, as the British falls to the ground. He hears someone screaming from far in the distance and realises that actually it’s him, feels his knees hit the solid earth hard as he falls to the broken dirt of the road, crawling towards Stephen, pulling him into his arms.
He cradles Stephen’ head in one hand, the other reaching down to try and stem the flow of blood that spreads like a crimson lake, staining the dull khaki of the army uniform. Stephen blinks up at him, his hand reaching out to touch Kaecilius’s arm.
“It’ll be okay,” Kaecilius whispers, “we’ll get you to the military hospital, it isn’t far, you’ll be —” Kaecilius can’t keep talking, it all hurts too much and he just wants Stephen to stay with him “I love you, you can’t leave me”
Stephen looks up at him, fading into the haze. He shakes his head, squeezing Kaecilius’s arm harder, looking into the brown eyes that have become so familiar.
Stephen tries to speak, but it comes out as a strained cough, a trickle of blood escapes the corner of his mouth. His limbs feel heavy, head spinning; everything hurts. It takes so much strength to bring his hand up to Kaecilius’s face, gently wiping at the tears that are slipping down the ash blonde’s cheeks. Kaecilius looks at him through blurry eyes, clasps their hands together before pressing his lips to Stephen’ palm. They stay like that. It seems like forever, but it’s only seconds really, a long drawn out moment.
Kaecilius senses it, the moment when he’s gone, when his heart finally stops beating. It is almost impossible, the act of brushing Stephen’ eyes slowly closed, the thought that he’ll never see them again. He pulls Stephen nearer to him, cradling his body close, kissing his forehead gently as he holds him.
*
The war is won just under a month later. Twenty-seven days to be precise. Twenty-seven days of sleeping under those four canvas walls, in the room he used to share with Stephen. Alone at first, until they give him another tent-mate. Kaecilius hates him. He would hate anyone they assigned him with.
No one is Stephen. No one cares now. Not even Kaecilius cares. Adria’s next letter seems to sting. She’s so far away from him now. He is so far away from anyone.
They are moved away from the front after that, and another six months stretches out, securing the area, trying to fix all that is broken. Kaecilius can’t imagine ever being fixed, being whole again. Each morning he wakes up and looks across to the adjacent bed, expecting to see Stephen there. Each morning his heart shatters, because Stephen will never be there again.
Is it just because you’re lonely? – echoes in his head. It’s because I’ve fallen in love with you, too, because I love you with all my heart– he should have said.
It is too late to say it now.
VIII .
Adria’s arms are around his neck, holding him to her as if he is the most precious thing in the world. Her soft blonde hair tickles his cheek, her body warm against him.
Everything looks and feels the same as it did before he left.
Kaecilius wishes he was the same. But He knows that He is not the same as before and never will be, just as He knows that He can never forget Stephen.
Planes rush overhead, but it’s different now, they are bringing people home rather than shipping them off to their deaths. He thinks of how, somewhere out there is a plane carrying a coffin draped in a British flag.
He puts it out of his mind. It hurts too much.
IX.
Life goes on. The world heals, as it always has and always will. Kaecilius pretends to heal too, but there is too much damage, too many losses, faces that haunt his dreams each night.
Years pass, Kaecilius holds his beloved son in his arms, and kisses Adria, he now has a child, a reason to keep going. Yet, Adria notices how Kaecilius’s hands shake, she breathes in the alcohol from his breath, sees the struggle within him and in a few years they separate. Kaecilius feels that he is too hurt and broken, and this time Stephen is not there to bring him back happiness.
Sometimes, Kaecilius dreams of gunfire and sand in his eyes, of army rations and the bright blue eyes of the man who saved him from all the darkness in his heart.
It was such a brief moment in a long life, but it resonates, as the pain of dying seizes him now.
He wouldn’t have made it so far without Stephen.