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“You’re a very good runner, Lieutenant,” the Captain pants. “I am most impressed but not entirely unsurprised given your...”
He gestures loosely to Havers’ physique, his eyes following the motion of his hand. Not for the first time, Havers wonders whether the Captain is utterly fearless, or utterly oblivious of the homoerotic nature of a lot of what he does. He doesn’t know which would be worse. Either way, he can feel the flush of physical exertion on his cheeks deepen the longer the Captain’s gaze lingers.
“Didn’t beat you though, sir!” he replies breathlessly. “If my two minutes forty-two is impressive then your two minutes thirty-five should be counted as extraordinary.”
Perhaps Havers is overdoing the praise, but it is worth sounding like a lovesick fool if only to see the bumbling mess the Captain turns into at the slightest hint of a compliment. It’s like a butterfly opening its wings for a brief moment. A flash of colours, bright and beautiful before they retreat into a veil of beige and bland.
“Ah, thank you, Havers. Very kind of you, I’m sure.”
The Captain pauses. He does that a lot, Havers notes. Often, he goes to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, only for him to swallow them back down with a shake of his head. Havers wishes he could take the Captain’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, open that mouth of his and pluck those words right out. He wishes he could live in the space between what the Captain thinks and what he says, gathering those words in his palm like one would shells on a beach.
“If you wanted, Havers, and if the thought of being stuck with me for an extra hour or two a week doesn’t fill you with dread...”
“Yes?” Havers prompts, curiosity sparked.
“I could train you,” the Captain rushes out in a single breath. “Give you some tips and tricks so maybe one day you could best me! I’ll make you the fastest runner that Surrey has ever produced.”
“Ah, well, um-”
The Captain’s face falls like Icarus.
“You don’t have to! Obviously, it’s completely up to you, Lieutenant. I- you've probably got your own routine of stretches that you follow, it was silly of me to suggest such a thing, I must apolo-”
“Sir! Listen to what I want to say before you go leaping to any apologies.”
“Of course. I’m sorry, Havers.”
Havers can’t help the bark of laughter that comes from him. Eventually, the Captain realises the irony and a bashful little smirk graces his lips. They look at each other and chuckle.
“It’s not that I’m not grateful for your offer of training, sir,” Havers says slowly, trying to find the words. “In fact, I’m honoured that would take time out of your busy schedule to assist me. The thing is that I don’t really run with the intent to get faster. I-”
“But what’s the point of running then?” the Captain interrupts, causing Havers raise his eyebrows. “Sorry, do go on.”
“I was going to say that I run for the joy of it. And that I’ve always been wary of proper training because I’m worried it might take the fun out of it.”
“You run for the fun of it?” the Captain asks, saying the words as if they were a foreign taste on his tongue.
“Running is funning, sir!”
The Captain heaves a deep belly laugh at that.
“Very good, Havers!”
Another pause.
“I’m sorry if this sounds foolish, Havers,” the Captain says, “But what is the point of doing something if you aren’t trying to improve and better yourself? What motivation is there to keep doing it?”
“If you love doing something then the reward is the thing itself, sir. If going on runs makes me faster or healthier, then that’s great! I’m chuffed about it! But that is not my main goal; those are more like side effects. Running makes me happy and that in of itself is a reason enough to do it.”
The Captain nods sagely but Havers can tell he still doesn’t quite understand.
“Think of it like this, sir. Each time you eat cake do you try and improve the way you eat cake? No! You eat it for the joy of eating it.”
The Captain mumbles something.
“Sorry, what was that?” Havers prompts, leaning in closer.
“I do try to improve the way I eat cake, though.”
Havers blinks blankly.
“Well, each technique offers different sensory experiences and levels of satisfaction, you see,” the Captain says as if this was common knowledge. “Should you stab the cake with the fork, or gently scoop it up? At which end should you attack from first? If the cake has two layers, then should you prepare a mouthful so that it spans both layers or just one at a time? So many combinations.”
As the Captain bounces and clears his throat, he looks nervously up at Havers as if searching for approval. How strange it is for a captain to be seeking support from a lieutenant! In fact, most of what the Captain has said and done has been slightly strange. And damn him, if Havers doesn’t find it charming.
“I won’t be taking you up on those training sessions, sir,” declares Havers.
The Captain’s brow furrows and he curves in on himself.
Before the other man can begin his litany of apologies, Havers continues. “I’ve thought of a better use for our time.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to train you, sir. I’m going to show you how to enjoy something for the sake of enjoying it.”
“I- I’m afraid with the rationing, I don’t think that cake is on the menu, so to speak, Lieutenant,” the Captain splutters.
“It doesn’t have to be cake,” Havers insists. “What do you enjoy doing, sir? In your spare time.”
“I don’t have much of that, Havers.”
Havers simply raises an eyebrow, letting the drawn-out silence make the argument for him.
“I’m quite partial to cricket. A-and going for walks in nature. It’s good to stay active, isn’t it?”
Havers smiles, a web of ideas already unspooling in his mind.
“I can work with that.”
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A couple of weeks later, on a blue-skyed Sunday, Havers sits alongside the Captain at the side of the lake on the Button House estate.
They are flirting with the line of being too physically close for a strictly professional relationship. Havers would be lying if he said this wasn’t part of his plan in choosing such a small blanket to sit on. And how wonderfully the plan has gone. Havers wonders if the Captain has noticed, and if he can also feel the heat radiating from the other man’s shoulder. If he can also see their pinkie fingers inching towards each other across the checkered fabric.
“Birdwatching, eh?” the Captain says, the dredged-up enthusiasm in his voice barely disguising his scepticism.
“That’s right,” Havers smiles back.
Havers surveys the tableau before him, letting his eyes flit naturally to flashes of movement. For the first time since arriving at Button House, the world seems still again. Like everything has slowed down to how it was before Havers’ life became deadline after deadline, and reading the names of the dead in the morning paper, and sleepless nights as the world that he has grown to love so much is ravaged by man’s hatred and hubris.
The lilies move imperceptibly slow towards the surface, preparing to spread their blooms once more. The trees sway like weary giants in the wind and the water is so...
Still.
And so is Havers’ mind.
The one thing in this place that is not still is the Captain.
He fidgets with his pipe and uniform, adjusting his position on the blanket and seemingly finding no comfort.
As Havers had expected he would, the Captain breaks the silence.
“Havers, w-what am I supposed to be doing, may I ask?”
“Watching for birds,” Havers replies simply.
“Ah, right, of course,” mutters the Captain, pausing for a minute before shuffling around some more. “Am I supposed to point them out? Or name them, perhaps?”
“You can if you wish, sir.”
“How many have you seen so far?”
“I haven’t been counting,” Havers shrugs.
“But then-”
The Captain sighs frustratedly.
“Forgive me for saying so, Havers, but what is the bally point? I can see birds any day of the week. In fact, I often do on my patrols! So, what’s the point of setting aside some precious time to see birds and then not doing anything useful with the experience?”
“What would you have us do to make this more useful, Captain?”
“We could make it a competition, perhaps?”
It is Havers’ turn to sigh. Not out of annoyance, really. He has dealt with that period of incessant question-asking from his younger sister, and he knows that the Captain has no malicious intent behind his suggestion. He simply wants to understand.
“Forgive me if I get too melancholy with this, sir,” Havers begins slowly, “But one day we might not be able to see birds. Be that because we have grown too old and our eyesight has failed, or that the world has ended after all, or we are simply no longer alive to see them.”
He gestures to the lake.
“This. This is what we fight for, what we work for, and what we live for. So that we can have a moment of peace and contentedness while we can. Our own Eden despite our fall.”
“Oh.”
Havers doesn’t look away from the lake, but he can feel the Captain’s eyes study his profile and can practically hear the gears in his mind whirring.
As slowly as the lilies reaching towards the surface and as the sun moving across the sky, Havers leans towards the Captain until their shoulders are touching. For a moment when they make contact, the Captain tenses and draws away slightly and Havers’ heart sinks. But then, the weight returns and an already perfect afternoon gets even better.
A flash of blue and gold brings a word to Havers’ mind.
Halcyon.
The word refers to a kingfisher, the meaning stemming from an old Greek myth. Havers remembers his father telling the story while Havers was tucked in his own bed, knowing that he was loved and safe. He can almost feel the candlelight against his skin and see the shadows drawn out on the wall behind his father as the myth rekindles in his mind.
There was once a woman who threw herself into the sea out of grief after her husband’s death, unable to cope with life without him. Compelled by their love for each other, and the tragedy of their tale, the gods turned the lovers into kingfishers, giving them a life freer than anything they had previously known. And when the time came in which they had eggs to look after, the gods kept the days peaceful and idyllic. And so, stems the other meaning of the word. As well as conjuring the image of a kingfisher, halcyon refers to a period of time in the past where peace and contentedness reign. A sun-bleached portrait of a memory, untouched by the grief of the present.
And, for goodness knows how long, that is all that Havers can think.
Halcyon.
Halcyon.
Halcyon.
This quiet moment beside his Captain already feels like a memory. With every millimetre that the sun moves, Havers can feel this peace slipping through his fingers like smoke from his Captain’s pipe.
But he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Havers smiles down at his and the Captain’s little fingers, seeing that they have finally made contact.
“Do you understand now, sir?”
“Yes, Havers. I think I do.”