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"Your point being?"
"Don’t faff around. Pull your finger out of your arse and tell her how you really feel." He reaches up to grip my shoulder, but I pull away.
"You don’t know what you’re talking about. You weren’t conscious to see what they did to my men."
"My men, too."
"You didn’t lead them."
"And you’re being too hard on yourself."
"Am I?" I search his features and glimpse the pity, and also, the anger in them. "So, you do hold me responsible for what happened."
He holds up his hands. "I didn’t say that."
"You don’t need to. The look on your face is enough."
"You’re mistaken."
"Am I?" I glare at him.
He holds my gaze, his own steady. "That’s your guilt speaking, Lieutenant," he murmurs.
Anger punches my chest with such force I can barely breathe. "Fuck you, too, arsehole." I turn and jog away, my ribcage so tight, each breath feels like I’m drawing knives down my throat. I increase my pace, my feet pounding into the footpath by the Thames. I could throw myself off and into the depths of the river—oh wait, I’m a fucking good swimmer, the curse of being a Green Beret. We’re put through our paces and need to be excellent swimmers. After all we marines are part of the navy. So, that won’t work. I could shoot myself, but that would be too messy for the person who finds me—besides, I can’t put my family through that. I’m not that cruel, am I? Not after what I went through. Seeing the people you care for die is worse than facing death yourself. It’s worse than having the skin peeled off you when you’re alive, worse than the abuse you’re subjected to when you’re—
"Hey, motherfucker!" A new voice calls out to me. Footsteps pound behind me, then Rick pulls up on my left.
I groan, pretending not to notice him.
"Aww, you upset with me, darling?" He makes kissing noises, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
"I do believe the boy is pouting." Finn’s Texas drawl reaches me first, then the dickface, himself, pulls up to my right. With the two men bracketing me, I continue to jog, and the two fall in step with me. Our pace aligns, and the three of us mirror each other’s speed. Soon we’re running in tandem. It’s almost like being back in that frozen jungle with my men running single file behind me.
The silence of the space wraps its arms about me, our footsteps muffled by the snow, each branch of each tree shorn of any leaves, the bark glistening in the morning sun rays. Tiredness catches up with me. Three days of running with short pauses for eating and a few hours for sleep has dulled my attention span. Or perhaps, the beauty of nature has lulled me into a sense of false safety. I find my steps slowing down to a walk as I take in the quiet, allowing it to soothe my nerves, follow a rabbit that darts out of the undergrowth and crosses my path. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I tighten my fingers around the trigger of my gun as the first shot is fired. A scream splits the air and I stumble on a piece of ice in my path and—
"You alright?" Rick grips my elbow.
I shrug him off, straighten myself, and continue running.
He exchanges a glance with Finn, who scans my features with a worried frown.
"Stop looking at me like I’m going to self-destruct any moment," I snap.
"Stop holding back. It’s okay to rely on your friends."
"My friends are dead," I say through gritted teeth.
Finn scoffs. "Poor ol’ Knight, mourning those he lost. Sinking in self-despair. Lonely and sad in his penthouse, succumbing to hopelessness, and waging a war against destiny for the blow it has dealt him, and—" He reels back when I plant my fist in his face. Blood spurts from his nose, and he stumbles back laughing.
I scowl. "You got a death-wish man?"
"At least that got a rise out of you." He coughs.
I shake out my hand. "Your face might be pretty, but it’s harder than I gave it credit for."
"So are you, my man. You don’t give yourself enough credit for how far you’ve come." He snatches up the bandanna Rick’s tossed him, then balls it and pushes it into his smashed nose.
"Jesus, you have a mean strike." Finn coughs.
