Dogs of War

Chapter 37

We pull up outside of a small apartment complex in Manchester, and I look around the bleary city that seems so gloomy in comparison to the Australian cities I was so much more used to.

"I didn't even realise you had a place to call home." The words slip past my teeth, the sound of the rain on the car almost drowning my quiet words.

"I'm almost never here. It's likely full of dust and cobwebs." He pauses before sighing. "I didn't even think, I've only got the one bed." He face palms, sighing in irritation. "We can grab a hotel or a motel room. I'm sure there's one near -" I place my hand on his shoulder.

"It's fine. I'm sure you have a couch. If not, I'm no stranger to the floor or even just sharing the bed. Wouldn't be the first time we've shared a bed, won't be the last."

I see him hesitating, and I wonder why he's struggling with so badly. His file had been so blacked out I'm sure I've missed something important. In the end, he doesn't answer me, just pulling his balaclava off and exchanging it for a mask printed with his signature skull print. The difference is startling as he runs a hair through his crushed curls, brown eyes lost in the distance as he breathes deeply. I can smell the deep turmoil, emotions crashing deep underneath the surface, but without a frame of reference, I can't make a guess as to what to do or say. So I decided to go straight for bluntness.

"I know we're here to see your family." My voice is soft, trying so hard not to shock him. I feel his emotions come to a hard stop, and I swear I hear his heart skip a beat.

"How?" His voice is rough as he turns to look at me. Without his mask, I can clearly see the way his face wrinkles as he frowns, the ways his eyebrows furrow together. The way a strand of his hair, freed from the balaclava, revels in its freedom by laying across his forehead, longer than the military regs typically allows for. Not that anyone cared about the masked man having hair longer than he was meant to have, considering the fact that he was legally dead.

"Your file says they're buried here. I just put two and two together when you said where we were going. Plus, you've been moody. How long has it been since you've actually been in England to visit them on their death-iversary?"

I see the tightening of his face as he winces, memories plaguing him. "Too long." I nod at his clipped words. Without further comment, he gets out of the car and grabs our bags easily, not that I'd packed much. I open the door and slide down to the ground, the rain instantly drenching me, and I grimace. My already well fitted clothes hug my frame even more, and I realise the pants clinging to my legs highlighted just how wrong they looked. I scurried after Ghost, keen to get inside and away from any prying eyes. Trudging after Ghost, I realised we didn't have to go far, his apartment was on the first floor, and when he opened the door, I realised he wasn't kidding when he said it was probably full of dust. The door opening kicked up a thin layer of it, sending me into a sneezing fit.

The look of concern Ghost gave me along with his emotions easing back towards neutral mollified me a little. Did nothing to ease the sneezing fit, though.

I was grateful to notice that the furniture appeared to have at least been left with drop sheets.

"You weren't kidding. It's been a while, huh?" I say, eyes watering as I sneeze again.

"For fucks sake," he growls, dropping our bags to the floor. He swears again as the plume of dust seems determined to make me face its wrath at being disturbed.

"For fucks sake!" he swears again and makes his way through the apartment. I hear him grab the vacuum through my sneezing. "Of course it's my luck to get the dog whose got seasonal fucking allergies," he mutters over the whine of the vacuum. Even with the lack of heat to his words, I still grumble back, annoyed. "You need a cleaner. Someone who comes through once a month for this reason."