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He looked at him ever more often and his stare affected the British officer ever more. Yes, he trusted him, he trusted the German because there, in a Norwegian waste, they weren't enemies, there they were equals in their desire to survive. And that was why he and Schopis were now constructing some kind of a provisory sleigh, which could be used for taking the wounded German youngster... where? Somewhere safe?
Hardly, thought Davenport with a bitter smirk and tied a knot on the sleigh. Wherever they will come, one of them will be taken prisoners, the others accused of collaboration. Perhaps if they shot themselves right in the beginning, it would be easier that way, came to his mind again after several times before, and as several times before his stare wandered off to the German Lieutenant, feeling gratitude and respect towards him. It was him he gave them shelter, warmness, food... It was him who gave them life, actually.
The fact that he's staring at Schopis completely exposed came to his mind only when the German lowered his eyes back to his work, hence Davenport mimicked him. The Englishman didn't lie to himself, there were some feelings towards his enemy, feelings far distant from hate however, and that was one of the reasons why his heart clenched when their finger unintentionally met on one of the knots. Both of them flinched, just as found t eyes of the other one.
Schopis was so sheer Davenport was moved. He knew their relationship had no future, that there was a low chance that both of them survive the war, that their newborn feelings last... He knew it all and wouldn't do anything just from his iniciative, however now a lust for throwing aside all the buts and express himself had taken over him already. And Schopis was to blame. When he opened up to the British about his unhappy marriage, Davenport swallowed a bitter pill of disappointment at first, but later thought some more about their conversation. And remembered the way of the other man's stares. He sorted in his head again, why did the Lieutenant tell him that at all, why the stares, why...
Davenport's doubts were defeated. Defeated by emotions, which stormed inside him more and more, squared by a shy and almost tentative expression his enemy was looking at him with. He couldn't remember the last time he ever wanted something so fiercely, the last he heard the voice of his heart so strong and unmovable. As if his heart believed this is something more... that the Lieutenant feels the same towards him. That his feelings towards him are something no war can tame.
Without a thought, he acted. At first, he shifted his hand back to the knot, with his eyes fixed to the other ones his palm covered Schopis's, and before the German could react, he tilted his body and listened to his internal desire to kiss his enemy. He laid his lips on the other ones, just shortly, but trying to show the Lieutenant, what had he grown to mean to him after the few days. His heart started to beat faster, feeling of unreal happiness sprode in his body.
He moved away after a few seconds. Davenport was certain Schopis wanted the same as him, but had no idea if he is also ready to accept the fact he might as well get it from the British. He observed the way the German stared at him in disbelief, the way he tilted his stare to the ground, obviously trying to put himself together. Davenport smiled. Gently. Exactly how he should never smile at a soldier of an enemy country's army. Lieutenant's cheeks crimson with chill and mayhaps with shame as well, the shyness springing from inability to look to British, who just kissed him, in the eye, the spasmic grip on Davenport's palm, that was what the British Captain was striving to engrave in his memory. He strived to never forget this moment, and neither the next one, in which Schopis moved and in a single swift motion put his lips to the other ones.
Davenport exhaled with surprise and pleasure, held Schopis's hand even more firmly and pushed his lips forward to meet the lieutenant's, he kissed him gently, slowly, and the German tried to do so as well, until the desperation of their whole situation creeped into their act, until he realised this was not going to happen again.
Fearful of Smith's and Strunk's return from their expedition, the British ended their kiss, the lieutenant's palm still in his grip as the fingers on his other hand caressed his enemy's cheek. With his eyes closed, he tried to tame the emotions raging inside him, he felt the other man trembling.
„I will find you,“ he heard himseld whispering with dedication and complete naivité. „Once the war is over, I will find you.“
„Don't promise something you can't keep,“ replied the other man's rationality, however in a tone which made Davenport certain that the German wanted nothing more than him to keep it.
He saw the same wish in his foe's eyes again when the British expedition came for them, when Schopis was returning him his lighter and when he was leaving on a boat amongst other prisoners. He never hated the war as much as then, when it robbed him of something he should have never had in the first place...
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Seven years later, Davenport was striding across London's railway station platform and couldn't wait for the train to arrive.
Just after he had come to terms with the fact the war was over and he was home in one piece, his spies delivered him a message which pumped his pulse to the maximum and completely destroyed the new peace. After several hours of pacing across his two-roomed flat like a lion in cage, he made a decision.
The whole seven years he had hoped, he had wished, he had feeded himself with hope... He had got to know lots of new people, some meaning nothing at all to him, others meaning a lot to him; in his thoughts and memories, however, he had kept coming back to the man who should had belonged to the first category but fate decided otherwise. And then, when he found out the German Lieutenant had come back to his motherland alive and well, there was nothing to wait for anymore. Perhaps Schopis won't want to see him, won't to have anything in common with him, but Davenport was dedicated to keeping his promise.
That was why, about a week a go, he picked up the telephone and fought the tears in his eyes when the voice of the German ex-lieutenant spoke to him. He would have spoken to Schopis longer but as soon as he managed to greet him, he couldn't hold back the offer to invite Schopis to London. After that, he found another conversation via telephone pointless because Schopis accepted the invitation without any hesitation.
Davenport felt considerably nervous, contrasting the untamed enthusiasm which took over him when the roaring train started to approach to station. Suddenly, the British ex-captain was incapable of moving, he just watched the iron giant slowing down, he ignored the unpleasant squeaking of the brakes, and simply tried to look like a typical reserved member of his nation. He folded his hands behind his back and with non-existent calmness started to look around the outcoming people, even though he wanted to jump around like a little child, looking for his beloved related in the crowd.
Davenport swallowed, just thinking of the word which crossed his mind a second before filled him with doubts and... And the feelings which stroke him hard again when he, amongst absolutely unimportant people, recognized a face he knew.
The other man's eyes found the British ones, shining with smile that came to Davenport's lips as well. The ex-soldiers approached the other with a slow stride until they stopped about two meters apart. Davenport fought the urge to hug Schopis, but didn't do it because of the hundreds people who could see them and because he didn't want to bring discomfort to the other man. Instead, he simply stood there with the corners of his mouth ridiculously twitching (he silently cursed himself for them) but he couldn't help himself, he was undescribably grateful he could extend his hand and watch Schopis accept his gesture with mildly beaming eyes.
No words came for several minutes, for neither of them had any idea of what to say. Davenport's merriness left after a while, because his initial rave faded away and he had to face the fact that the German hadn't only aged seven years. Not that he was too decrepit, but his stay in the prison camp was undeniably visible.
„How were you treated?“ he didn't lay the first question very tactfully, but it was too late to stop. It mattered to him, even though any answer could change the past.
„Tolerably,“ Schopis's expression grew serious as well, absent-mindedly gripping Davenport's hand even firmlier. „And you?“ A little trembling of fear sneaked into his voice.
„Tolerably.“ Neither Davenport had any wish to desire to talk about his prison-camp experiences. He survived, nothing else mattered.
The Englishman blinked, this topic might hadn't been the best one for the beginning, so he just smiled and lost the grip on the other man's hand.
„Shall we go?“ he asked. „I don't live far from here.“
Even though Schopis only nodded, Davenport noticed that he opened his mouth as if to say something only to stop himself later. He would like to now, what was up... He had a strange feeling it was obvious, but because the German picked up his suitcase again as if to prove his readiness to go, he turned back to the main building and with Schopis by his side, he headed through the giant hall for the streets of London.
Davenport walked slowly by intention, for he noticed the way Schopis examines the buildings around and overall his eyes, shining with enthuasism and curiosity, kept flying from side to side. He didn't protest at all when the German often stopped and simply took in, what was going on around him, how it looked around him...
„Do you like London?“ The Englishman couldn't spare himself the question. He loved this city and wished with his whole heart, that his ex-enemy liked it as well. He, though, felt like taking nothing except the local atmosphere, which quite amused Davenport and led him to let Schopis to look around, however he needed; he looked up to sky instead and tried to guess the time they have left until the rain comes. Something was in the air and he had no desire to soak himself.
He was just thinking about, if the rain was coming in ten or twenty minutes, when he felt a touch at his elbow. He looked at the man by his right side.
„We can continue, I just... I just let myself get carried away a bit,“ he said, his smile apologetic and precisely storming up a blizzard of emotion. Schopis's face was so close, and without even realising it, he covered Schopis's hand with his. At that moment there was anything he wanted more than to pull him closer, embrace him, kiss... simply prove to himself that they were really there. Together. No war, no foes.
Schopis swallowed, his cheeks were burning and Davenport wondered, how a man whi survived war and a stay in a prison camp, could melt under his stare. First raindrops fell on their hands.
„It's not far from here anymore,“ the Englishman forced himself to conciousness, grudginly withdrew himself from Schopis – but it was in their own interest to keep going. In a few minutes they came to a good-looking house, in which they climbed to the second floor, where Davenport's flat was. Nowhere near snobbish, being rather cozy instead – however, Schopis didn't think it was Davenport who decorated it. He even smirked when he saw a modern and well-equipped kitchen.
„I haven't even used it properly yet,“ Davenport scratched his head, when he noticed the direction of the other man's look. „My housekeepers comes here regularly.“
Schopis just shook his head in amusement, whereupon he laid his suitcase near a wardrobe in which the Englishman offered him its one half to use, for he himself didn't need much space for his clothes. Respectively, he still hadn't brought all of his clothes there, some of it still remained it his parents' house.
„What will she say once she discovers a German ex-officer?“ asked Schopis as he was getting rid of his gloves and coat.
„She's almost completely deaf, she won't notice,“ shrugged Davenport and set water for tea to boil, already wearing only trousers and jumper.
Schopis took in the information and sat himself at the table, on which instantly appeared a bottle of whiskey, two glasses and a packet of cigarettes. And a lighter. The German examined it, Davenport examined the German from the stove.
It was the same lighter which Schopis confiscated from him during their first day spent together in the cabin in the moddle of Norway, and which he returned to him on their last common day, just as he promised.
His memories were interrupted by the kettle's squeaking. He made tea with the hot water, brought the cups to the table and sat down. They quietly drank their tea for a moment, Davenport was watching the other man, who's stare was turned to his cup, and thought about what might be going on in his head. He remembered the moment at the station, when Schopis was about to tell him something without telling him in the end. He smiled half-heartedly at himself, at his inability to tame the desire to know what his ears were forbidden from hearing.
„Ask, if you need to,“ said Schopis intuitively and drank, whereat he arranged himself in a more comfortable position in the chair and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He looked tired, resigned but somehow... somehow glad he was where he was. At least it seemed so to Davenport.
„I don't know where to begin,“ lied Davenport slightly. He had tons of questions, however he had no wish to start with the one he desired answered the most.
„What about how I knew you were in a prison camp as well?“ Schopis opened his eyes, sad smile hanging on his lips. He waited for Davenport to nod quietly, thereupon answered to his own question: „I'm not the only who's marked by those seven years quite more than it naturally, my friend.“
Davenport stopped to stare at Schopis, his heart beating like wild when he heard the word from the other man's mouth. It struck him deep inside, even though they were friends already back then... then in Norway. They were friends and had to be enemies. How wonderful seemed the ensuring that it wasn't true anymore. Only after a few second of processing what was said the meaning of the other words appeared, whereat he slightly smild with nervosity and turned his gaze to the tablecloth. Schopis was right, he wasn't even fourty and the hair on his temples was already catching some grey, the wrinkles around his eyes didn't quite help to look him like a man his thirties either.
With the question about his return home on his mind Davenport lifted his eyes but never asked, because Schopis's gaze towards him got him again. They were alone, nobody could see them, and Davenport still held himself back though... But why, he didn't understand himself, what was he waiting for, when Schopis...
„On the station...“ he started slowly, „you wanted to tell me something there.“
„I did,“ nodded the other man with an ostensible firm voice, Davenport felt the tiny tremble in it however... He had never been never very observant to other people, the more he was suprised how observant he was to Schopis, but it simply was like that. He felt that what was about to be told to him was important, and he felt as well that his friend was about to tell him what he hadn't said earlier. „Do you remember what you told me before?“
Davenport didn't have think about it long, even though he didn't understand the connection between...
„I don't live far from here.“
Schopis didn't move his glare for a second.
„I wanted to tell you that even if you lived on the edge of the world, I would go with you anyway.“
Davenport's heart tried to jump from his chest, he hesitated with believing what he just heard. He had ankling it was going to be important but that... that he will hear those word from his ex-enemy, very well the most beautiful words he had ever heard or read or even imagined... And even though he was a soldier, a precisely trained pilot whose job was to kill, even though he was a man steeled by the war, he couldn't resist the honesty springing from those words and the feelings shining in his friend's eyes.
He painfully realised how much, how terribly much he missed Schopis. And now he was here and just staring on him...?! He remembered the moment from Norway, recalled everything once engraved in his mind. And he wanted to restore his memories, enrich them of new ones...
He stood up from the table so fast his chair protested loudly; all his attention, however, was directed at Schopis who stood up as well, a tad less impetuous though. The German took a single step towards the Englishman, in whose eyes he was literally drowning, and did what he had wanted to the at station already. He extended his arms, placed them on Davenport's hot cheeks and kissed him, whereat a feeling of pure happiness sprode in his body as he felt the broad palms on both of his arms when Davenport pulled him closer.
He was out of breath, his chest was painfully tight. His fingers lapped in Davenport's hair and grabbed them firmly when he left the Englishman's hungry mouth, thereupon laid his forehead against the latter. His lips were tingling, blood was rushing through his veins and as soon as he opened his eyes he found out Davenport's condition was comparable to his.
His eyes were literally burning.
Seven years. Seven years of dreaming that they will meet once again, that they will continue where they stopped in Norway, that Davenport will manage to keep his promise given to his friend in the Norwegian icy waste. The promise Schopis wished his friend will be able to keep...