Time Sensitive Target

Part 17 - Conflict. Distrust. Suspicion.

I picked at a scab forming over my knuckles. The fatigue from the shard removal had settled in, and the constant nausea of my strange run in with Jase was somewhat controlled. In a way, I was glad of both ordeals. I'd overcome two "triggering" situations. I hated that term with a passion, it felt so self indulgent. As if my trauma was an overzealous car alarm provoked by the tiniest stimulation. I was feeling very... I sifted through the appropriate descriptions. Anxious.

Every hour I felt I became more aware of my inner monologue. It was strange, that had vanished amid all the unpleasantness and I hadn't realised how big of a part it played in making me feel like myself. Now my internal thoughts were clear, mostly concise and I was able to begin reading my own emotions and the reasons behind them again. Logic had always ruled me like some overriding force, rendering emotion a fruitless hindrance. I hoped above anything that I was on the path to controlling my feelings again, and to welcoming that clear cool headed balance to my brain. I had to take pride in small accomplishments. I felt anxious, and had successfully analysed it. 

It had less to do with the general circumstances and more to do with the atmosphere about our little camp, I concluded. It wasn't so much the restlessness, the frustration or the concern of being stuck on the fringe of a hostile enemy country in a tiny unprotected outpost. There was... conflict. Distrust. Suspicion. Why? The lack of outside communication was certainly a pivotal factor. But I understood fairly quickly that this joint assignment between these two special forces was more of a forced allyship, and as such it had none of the foundation necessary for a harmonious mission. But they were here, together, in this "Fallujah" as I'd heard Sonny call it. I wasn't sure what I would have expected. Maybe that they would have passed time swapping stories, or moaning about the lesser known inconveniences of special op life, but there was no crossing of borders. The Americans were defensive, and the Brits were suspicious.


                                                                                             *

Rob stared at the water stains trailing down into a plughole filled with sludge and comparatively clean frothy spit. The fibres of his brush were smashed too hard against his teeth in attempt to lather the pathetic speck of paste he had to spare. He would make his gums bleed in a moment, but he almost liked that feeling. He was so transfixed in positioning his next foamy spit over a particularly dark stain that he didn't notice somebody approaching. 

"Oh, sorry man," Jase nodded in apology. He began to turn away, his broad frame taking up a majority of the doorway. 

"I'm done if you need it," Rob didn't waste water hosing the toothpaste down the plughole, but Jase was half way down the corridor. As though the idea was slowly dawning on him, Jase came to a considered halt and looked back to Rob's tall silhouette. 

"Hey, I... don't want to overstep the line here. But there are some things we need to clear with the vic- with Paige." Jase felt the reluctance to say her name. He had to disassociate. 

"What kind of things?" Rob was straight down to it, dismissing Jase's casual approach to what they both knew was an official request to collect intel. 

"Just to see if she was exposed to any... information al-Raheem had. Overheard any conversations, saw any particular people, that sort of thing," Jase maintained his tentative approach, he could feel Rob's instant scepticism. "He's being really tight lipped, you'd be doing us a big favour here." 

Rob didn't care for the transparent attempt to employ basic sales tactics, but he knew there was nothing openly wrong in what Jase was requesting, and he knew Jase knew that too. In the interest of harmonious relations, the Brits couldn't afford to be uncooperative.