Brandenburg Gate

Chapter 13

* * *

Saturday, November 10, 1945
4:55 p.m.
BMH Berlin
Spandau
Berlin

"I'm sorry, Jack," from Rhys; gently. "It won't take too long. But I need to be able to testify under oath, that you weren't in the room when I was debriefed."

A pause, then.

"It's for your protection." He said this, even more gently.

Testifying. Under oath. I did not like the sound of that.

I looked down at him, in his crisp new pyjamas, lying back in his hospital bed. The head of the bed had been raised, some; but his head was still framed by his dark, wavy, too-long hair, spilling over the pillow.

He was beautiful; and his face, without being too obvious about it, was just shining up at me.

"Who's getting court-martialed? You — ?"

"No. Or at least, I expect not. I expect nobody will be. But I'll be deposed, for certain … and the less you're linked to classified information, in my testimony, the better."

Mister Grey and Mister MacLaughlin waited, patiently, saying nothing.

"All right. I'll be right outside the door, then. But I'm spending the night here with you. In this room."

"Yes." That small smile, at the corner of his mouth; the smile that I loved so much.

*

We'd come here, to the British Military Hospital, Berlin, as a routine precaution. It seemed that any prisoner released by the Soviets, in an exchange, was held overnight for observation.

After what we'd just been through, the idea of death-by-slow-poison seemed ludicrous. Why poison someone, when you'd worked so hard to shoot him — ? But then I remembered Nosenko's face, as he'd tried and tried to work out another way to assassinate Rhys …

 

There were two soldiers with sidearms, Coldstream Guards, posted on either side of Rhys' door. I nodded to them, as I deposited my chair against the wall facing the door, and settled in.

I didn't really mind the wait.

A very great deal had happened to me, to us, in a short time. I had a lot to think about. A lot to react to.

I was far from normal. Maybe even far from well. I knew all the signs, from too much experience.

This would be a bad one. It would take time. For both of us …

 

No; no. Fuck that. Don't think like that. Stop thinking like that.

 

I shook my head, a little; shutting down the thought.

I imagined that strongbox in my family's home, all over again; and I put the thought inside, and closed it, and turned the key, and felt the heavy bolts go home.

And I leaned back in the straight-backed chair, and crossed my arms over my chest. And then I closed my eyes, and deliberately ran through the day's better thoughts, the day's better memories.

* * *

Of course Rhys had waited for me. Of course he had.

 

And then had come a time of me holding him steady in the moving ambulance, in my arms, as a military policeman had worked on the Russian handcuffs behind Rhys' back.

Holding Rhys. In my arms. Tight.

His face, pressed warm against my chest, my shoulder. His breath, almost in my ear. My cheek, on the top of his head.

My eyes were closed, as the feelings just crashed through me and through me and through me, in waves. I didn't trust myself to speak, and I knew Rhys was in the same state. I knew it.

 

Then, at last, the handcuffs were off. I'd helped Rhys to sit back on the bench seat, as his arms came around in front of him at last, and he'd groaned, softly.

His hands were about as white as marble. There were deep red rings around his wrists. The fucking sons-of-bitches had handcuffed him very tightly.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The medic had examined his hands closely, moving them — Rhys couldn't move them, himself — and manipulating them and checking, for god-knows-what. I was terrified.

"The circulation is beginning to come back," he'd said, at last, sitting back a little; and he'd smiled, slightly. "See? Here, and here — ? I'm fairly certain that there will be no nerve damage, or at least no permanent nerve damage. But we'll have him looked at in hospital, to be on the safe side."

"Thank you," from me; after a moment. A little shakily.

"Of course." Another slight smile, at me. "Captain — ? If I may suggest — if you could massage Mister Williamson's hands, very, very gently, it would assist in the process of restoring circulation."

 

I could.

I did.

 

And as I leaned forward in the ambulance, and held Rhys' hands in mine, as we lurched around unseen corners, I saw Rhys' head go back for a long second; and then come forward.

"Thank you, Ian," he'd said quietly, and with great feeling, to Mister Grey; seated to my left.

Then, "Thank you, George," in the same voice, to Mister MacLaughlin, on the medic's right side.

Then he was looking at me — 

I knew what he was thinking. He was reliving that last day in Paris, in the Luxembourg Gardens, when he'd — well, he had put his life in my hands.

And he was thinking, that all of this; Mister Grey's presence, Mister MacLaughlin's presence, the British Intelligence involvement, the big military turnout, the rescue-in-plain-sight; all of this had happened, in the end, because of me.

He knew I'd set it all in motion; and he'd seen for himself, in the Pariser Platz, that I was involved in it, up to my eyeballs, and beyond …

The look he was giving me was one of pure, deep, abiding love. It shone from him.

"Thank you, Jack," he'd said; very softly. And there were whole worlds of meaning, in the words.

* * *

Back in his room, again, me sitting close by the side of his bed. There was a momentary, very contented silence between us.

In one corner of the room, Mister Grey and Mister MacLaughlin were huddled, silently reading each other's handwritten notes, adding a few words to them, here or there, and murmuring an occasional comment.

The atmosphere, when I'd carried my chair back in, had been — sober. Not exactly grim; but, sober, and a little charged.

I found it difficult to care, as long as Rhys was safe, and I was with him.

"How do you feel — ?" I asked; in a low voice, meant for him alone. He looked up at me, smiled, and took my hand, and squeezed it. I smiled back, and began gently massaging both his hands again.

The doctor who'd examined him here a little while ago, had said it was a good idea. I was glad of the excuse.

"I'm fine," he said, very softly. "I'm fine."

Another, contented silence, then; for a minute, then two, then more.

 

We would have a very great deal to say to each other, when we had a chance to, in private.

 

Oh, I was worried about him, worried for him; he'd been through things I couldn't imagine, and I knew he'd be dealing with it all later, maybe for a long time, as I'd be dealing with my own experiences … 

But we are a team. We would get through it, together.

And then, there was the fact that because we are a team, we usually know what each other is thinking, and feeling, at any given time.

And what we were thinking, and feeling, right then, was more than enough. It was glorious.

 

A rustling of papers, and a scrape of a chair, from the corner; and then Mister Grey was closing his attaché case, and putting away his pen. MacLaughlin was putting away his pocketbook, looking, well, sober.

"So you'll tackle him, then — ?", from Mister Grey.

"Yes. Although if I wait a day or two, I think it will go a little better," from Mister MacLaughlin; with a wry look.

"You will certainly get better results than I would, anytime this century … " He looked up, then, and over at us; and then he smiled, engagingly. "Ah! Captain! I was just wondering … would you permit me to buy you a drink, or two, at a little bar I happen to know about, just close by — ? I believe we're both due a bit of recreation, after everything we've been through."

I felt my mouth dropping open, for a moment, at the ridiculous suggestion. Then I felt Rhys squeezing my right hand, gently.

"Oh, do please say yes?" from Mister Grey, again; lightly. "Just a casual drink between two friends, you understand. Perhaps sharing a joke, or a story? No-one else within earshot. Nothing serious. Nothing that need be reported to anyone's superior officers, or result in testimony under oath; goodness, no. What do you say?" His expression was ironic, and self-mocking, at the same time.

 

Oh.

 

It was clearly my turn to be debriefed. And perhaps, to receive a debriefing of my own.

 

I looked down at Rhys; he was just as clearly amused. He squeezed my hand again.

"Go on ahead," he said. "George will keep me company, until you get back; we have some catching up to do. But don't stay out too late. I won't be able to go to sleep, until you're here."

The very last thing I wanted to do was to let go of his hands. Or go anywhere without him.

"All right," I said, easily. I looked over at Mister Grey. "That's a great idea … Ian."

I saw the smile bloom across his face.

"Splendid! Shall we — ?"

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