Chapter Text
“You know, there’s a bit of what the Germans would call schadenfreude in all this.” Jack folded his newspaper under his arms, stepping into the barn. Sam Troy was working on fixing the worn-out tack, finally up and about after enough arguments of resting. Her jeans were dirty, and she’d stripped down to her undershirt as the English summer heated up the barn. Taking the time to admire her form as she slowly turned her attention from the leather.
“In what?”
“Shaudenfruede. It’s a German word meaning to obtain pleasure from another’s fortunes or perhaps karmic justice.” Odysseus, the spoiled cat, perched on a nearby stall door eyeing Jack with a leisurely disdain. “Now that the Nazis have been all rounded up in the desert, I’ll admit to finding a great deal of humor.”
Troy was more upset she hadn’t gotten to be involved. She grunted in response and continued to work.
“After all, their downfall in North Africa is related directly to your work.” Simple sewing, a lady’s hobby that the overly mannly Germans would disregard. He had seen the handkerchief, helped decipher it, and with such a large chunk of the battle plan spelled out plainly for the allies the die had been cast.
She’d been foisted into London, heaped with dozens of medals, and had been spared eating with the heads of state and officers by exaggerating her injuries and begging off the tour.
“Yep.”
“So It’s amusing,” Jack continued. “I’m entertaining the thought of that wretched colonel guarded by a dozen Welsh boys because of embroidery.”
Most of the officers he’d spoken to had entertained the same thought as well. Troy’s clever piece of embroidery would be history at some point, and everyone knew it.
“When you put your foot in your mouth, you’ve got to be prepared when someone kicks your teeth in,” Sam said plainly, finally putting down her work. “Where are the kids?”
“Still in school.” The half-dozen children evacuated from London from the bombing had set up camp in the Moffit estate. Each child held Sam with complete fascination, enthralled by her American manners and the soldierly air. She was swarmed each evening until Jack and his mother could shoo them off. “Tully and Hitch arrive in a few days.”
Then they’d be off to their new assignment. Teaching commandos with their trusty drivers as their aides.
Something was bothering her, which she brought up after dinner over their cigarettes. “You know he kissed me.”
Jack spat out the whiskey, coughing faintly as the American calmly smoked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Kit…Dietrich. He kissed me.”
“That…scoundrel!” Jack leapt to his feet. “How dare he! You! Your memories! That bastard! I should have.”
“On the hand, Moffitt.” Faintly amused by Jack’s impassioned fury, she grinned over the rim of her glass. “Settle down.”
“Still!” He huffed. “There must be a limit!”
“I think he did on instinct…or habit. Seemed to take him by surprise.” It wasn’t just the injury that bothered her after her departure; but the sheer gall of their scheme.
“Of course,” Jack lowered himself back into his chair, sighing. “An instinct to kiss a beautiful woman. I suppose he can’t be blamed entirely…but he should not have indulged such an instinct. As difficult as it may be.”
Forcing himself to ignore the slanted stare turning in his direction, Jack swallowed the last of his drink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” An iron grip on his wrist pulled him around. Troy was shorter, but a solid weight to leverage Jack’s lean build into which position she deemed fit. He found himself on his knees before her wicker lawn chair. His hands clutched at the armrests in confusion. Usual soldier instincts to fight back died beneath her attention. Her bright eyes skipped over his face, the hard lines softening at whatever she found between the lines of confusion. “Sergeant…”
“I’m an officer now,” she reminded him unaware of the heat now crawling over his body.
Jack swallowed hard. “Of course.”
“You’re jealous,” Sam stated, grip still tight. Even if she’d let him go, Jack wasn’t sure he could rise.
“I…believe a gentleman.” Words choked off as Sam pulled him closer. “I….” Tongue heavy in his mouth, he managed. “Enhanced interrogation is against the Geneva Convention.”
As pleased as a cat with a successful hunt and with equal mercy, the American erased the distance between them with a hard jerk and collided into a demanding kiss. Coherent protests melted beneath the heat as Jack’s hands shifted from the armrests to her leg and hips. He might have willingly knelt in the damp, cooling grass for hours simply to map the details of Sam’s mouth; to excavate every noise and response she might have; but the need for air forced him to part.
“You speak a dozen languages but can’t talk worth a damn,” Sam muttered.
Jack nodded as prickles of heat crawled over his skin. He leaned forward again, only for Oddysesus to leap onto Sam’s lap, yowling furiously. “Damned cat!”
“Oh, don’t get fussed.” Sam released him finally, attention wholly on the cat. “At least the cat knows what he wants.” Jack flushed.
Tonguetied, he could only nod and force himself to stand once he realized Sam’s attention had fully shifted.
As she leaned back in the chair, her smile sharpened. “I wonder who won the bet?”
“I….suppose the money will go to Tully…but I think I won the most.”
Her smile softened and Jack couldn’t help but smile back.
Yes, he supposed he’d won the most.