Memories of Winter

Everything Changes After This

The rest of their day in the cabin had been more their usual standard. Cards, reading, he slept while she stood watch. He checked out her head. They ate. Neither discussed what had happened earlier; their embrace, the mutual acknowledgement of a feeling neither thought they could ever have nor act upon. It was dark again and cold, and he sat on the floor making another fire. She came and sat by him once it was lit. Usually, she'd sit opposite him, but today she stepped straight up to him, confusing him as she forced her way between his legs and leaned onto his chest with a contented sigh.

"Relax James you're too tense, like snuggling with a rock."

Baffled he could only murmur his apologies, "Sorry."

Questions pressed at his conscience, he should be savouring this moment, enjoying it, but what he'd seen, what had happened he couldn't ignore.

"Natalia?"

"Hmm."

"Earlier when I told you he was gonna rape you, you said it wouldn't be the first time. What did you mean?"

He felt her body tense against his she pulled his right arm about her and interlaced their fingers.

"James, you know what I do to get the targets to the rendezvous. There's a reason many of my missions involve men in power. Easy to seduce. But with power comes the idea that you can take what you want. Sometimes they try. They're not all bad but put a young girl in front of them dressed and acting a certain way none say no and very few take that first step with permission. Not everyone can have your moral compass."

"Natalia, I kill people." He cleared his throat and almost laughed at the absurdity of the realisation. "I don't even get paid to do it. I just do. I'm not sure what moral compass you think I have compared to the people I shoot in the head."

She turned around and faced him.
"You're a good man."

He tilted his head and scrunched his face, "How can you possibly think that?"

"You're just following orders."

He bit his lip and nodded before looking back at her.
"You know, following orders, is a piss poor, weak and cowardly excuse for what I do."

"It's my excuse," she replied defensively.

"It's not the same. This is all you've known since you were a child. You were never given a choice." He replied.

"Were you given one? You may not have been a child like I was, James, but let's not pretend you had any choice," she retorted. He didn't remember but given everything she'd said, his name, what they called him, the book, the ice he doubted he'd ever given his consent. What he continued to question the more time he was with her was why either of them stayed. She sat back on her knees, "This is my home. I don't know anything else."

"It's not mine." He rubbed his face with his metal hand. "I don't remember my home but I know it's not this."

She looked suddenly dejected, and he saw how what he'd said could be misinterpreted. He moved forward, taking her hands in his.
"Not you Natalia. You're the one good thing in all this. I've been lost. A lost soldier who forgot he even had a home, till you gave me one, with you."

She moved forward, not looking at him, only their joined hands as she squeezed herself between his legs. She took his left hand, kissed his metal fingers, interlaced her fingers with his, and then looked at him. His brow was furrowed, confused and unsure. She leaned forward taking his face in her free hand. She thumbed his jaw as she edged closer. He was backed up against the only comfortable chair. A battered leather armchair, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to retreat to. He held her shoulder, stopping her.