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“I’m leaving you, sir.”
The Captain’s heart rate picks up.
“...at 1800 hours this evening.”
This evening? Good Lord.
The Captain knew this day was coming, but he hadn’t expected it to arrive so soon. Thank goodness, Havers warned him about an acceleration in their plans earlier or this frightening prospect might have been a much more debilitating shock to the system.
“So soon?” he blurts out. Havers says nothing but holds his gaze meaningfully.
“Well, that would explain your new service revolver.”
The Captain had noticed Havers new, sizable appendage as soon as he had stepped into the office, the silhouette of his Lieutenant too familiar to not perceive this difference. Although the Captain is no artist, he reckons he could trace out the shape of Havers’ body with his eyes closed. As soon as he’d seen the revolver, he had understood that something was off.
“I don’t suppose they sent one for me, did they?” the Captain asks, only slightly joking.
Seeing Havers’ mouth twitch into an almost-smile has an almost immediate calming effect on the Captain.
“Only for frontline personnel at this stage, sir.”
“Of course, of course.”
“It’s north Africa, sir,” Havers says, finally returning them to the script. “I’ll be able to have a proper swing at Fritz.”
“You make sure you give them a bloody nose.”
As he mimes a punch, Havers almost instinctively mimes dodging out of the way and the Captain’s heart swells with adoration for this man. He will feel this parting keenly. It is what he has agreed to, of course, but that doesn’t stop the dread welling in his stomach. He always knew that Havers would have to leave eventually, but it hadn’t fully registered with him that every day he will have to face the little things that remind him of that awful absence. Like making his morning cup of tea without a charmingly bleary Havers at his side. Or sitting alone in his office without the sound of Havers pen scratching at form after form.
The Captain imagines it will be like looking at a mirror, expecting to see a part of himself, to find that he is, instead, looking through a window at the grey and empty world - a reminder of how small and helpless he is without his lieutenant by his side.
And so, even though it is not part of their plan, the Captain can’t help saying:
“I shall miss you, Havers.”
Havers’ face falls. Though it aches to do so, the Captain stammers out a correction, remembering how vital it is to stick to their script. Not for the first time, he wishes that the language of the heart was as easy to understand as Morse code.
The rest of the conversation passes like a hallucination to the Captain. He is sure he mentions cricket at some point, and calls Havers back to him one last time. But nothing he does could possibly stop the inevitable.
And finally. The Captain watches Havers go, pressing a hand to the letter hidden in his pocket.
He is simultaneously deflated that he wasn’t able to pass on those final words, and relieved he wasn’t foolish enough to try.
Who knew that planning to run off together would be so much hassle?
---
It was after three months of sneaking across the hallway when the rest of the regiment were asleep that Havers finally voiced the thoughts he had been having ever since his lips had first met the Captain’s that fateful afternoon.
“James,” he had whispered into the darkness.
“What is it, Anthony?”
“I want to fight.”
The Captain sat straight up in the bed. Havers followed him slowly, propping himself up on his elbows so that he could see his partner’s expression framed in moonlight.
“You want to leave?” the Captain asked, hurt seeping into his tone.
“Yes,” Havers said quietly, taking the Captain’s hand in his own. “And I want you to leave with me.”
The Captain didn’t so much snatch his hand away as he did forget to hold it up anymore. Even at the mere suggestion his heart rate had picked up considerably.
“And abandon the regiment?” he scoffed. “Are you mad?”
“I know a way to get to the continent without having to answer damning questions.”
Mindful of the creaky mattress, Havers shuffled closer to the Captain to catch his eyes. He continued:
“I know you want to fight, James. And I also know that I don’t want to go without you.”
There was a sense of urgency to Havers that the Captain hadn’t seen before. His dark brown eyes that should be the colour of sand under a wave were dark and glinting with nervousness. Smoothing the man’s hair back, the Captain leaned in and peered at Havers’ face as if a closer inspection was going to reveal the thoughts that trouble his Lieutenant so.
“Anthony, what is it that you’re not telling me?”
Havers gulped.
“I’m getting worried, James,” he admitted at an even lower volume, so that the Captain had to lean in even further. “I think that a couple of the men are starting to suspect us. There are whispers that cease when I enter a room. Strange smells and chills that just feel like my intuition warning me. And wherever I go in this house I- I feel like there are eyes following me. Like someone knows.”
“Anthony, are you sure?”
“Do you not believe me? Don’t tell me I’m being paranoid, James, I know that something is off!”
“No, no,” the Captain reassured him. “I think I trust you more than I trust myself at this point. I only mean- oh, what are we to do?”
“That’s why I’m saying we should go and fight!” Havers insisted, taking up the Captain’s hands again. “We stop waiting for permission and for people to start turning on us. We run away to the front, and we fight for our country. Together.”
If you had told the Captain a year ago that he would even be considering deserting his post, leaving the career he had worked so hard to build, and travelling by not entirely legal means all because he has fallen in love with a man- with his own lieutenant, nonetheless... he would have made you run twenty laps and then write a letter of apology to the King himself.
But nothing could have prepared him for Havers, for what he had awoken in the Captain. Long ago, the Captain had understood that he was never going to fall in love as he should, and had accepted a lifetime of solitude, dedicated only to the army. And then this man – this gorgeous, intelligent, kind-beyond-measure man had knocked on his office door. What was a man to do? Life before Havers was like a painting that the Captain never really understood or connected with. Certainly, he could see the technical beauty of it and appreciate the complexity of the composition, but it did not move him. But now, the Captain understands the intentions behind the painting. He sees the emotion in it and all the little imperfections and quirks that he had missed before. And it is beautiful.
They had spent barely six months together before the Captain had admitted that he would follow Havers anywhere that his Lieutenant would care to lead him. And the awful truth is that he would follow Havers, even so far into the gaping maw of treason.
After a tense minute of thinking, the Captain cleared his throat.
“I will need a more solid plan, Anthony, but as I promised you... I will follow you wherever you go, my dear.”
The fearful glint in Havers’ eyes turned to starlight. “My love, really?”
“On one condition,” the Captain said sternly, holding up his index finger.
“Anything, dear.”
“We need a codeword for the mission.”
Havers considers this with a seriousness that makes the Captain love him all the more deeply.
“How about we use the time that we first met?” Havers suggested.
They smiled at the memory, and the Captain had to laugh. What a pair of sentimental fools they are.
“I still remember that time written in my schedule next the name of Anthony P. Havers,” the Captain said, his moustache twitching into a smile. “And look where we are now.”
“Look, indeed.”
Havers pressed a light kiss to his cheek.
The Captain settled his shoulders determinedly. “Very well. 1800 hours it is.”