Author: Amedia (amedia@fanfic.tv)
Pairing(s): Moffitt/Troy
Summary: Troy and Moffitt visit an influential desert clan to deal with the repercussions of Abu Hassan's death (sequel to the aired episode "The Moment of Truce Raid").
Note: Originally printed in DIVERSE DOINGS 2 under the pseudonym Anaktoria. Illustrations by Safari.
I have to stop thinking about Jack Moffitt, Sam Troy said to himself, brooding over a beer in the nearly-deserted G.I. bar of a small American outpost. The Rat Patrol had been given two weeks' leave after successfully preventing an alliance between the German forces and a local chieftain named Faisal. Hitch and Tully had headed off immediately to the nearest Arab town in search of illicit liquor and even more illicit women; the enigmatic Moffitt had disappeared.
Troy's mind drifted back a few weeks. He'd barely gotten to know Fisher before the man had been killed during an attack on one of Dietrich's convoys. Troy had been sorry to lose him, but he had to admit that he had been looking forward to choosing a new man. Sometimes it was possible to spot someone who might share one's predilections. Hitch and Tully were cheerfully oblivious, heterosexual to the core, but Troy was hoping to recruit a kindred spirit for those cold desert nights.
Then their commander had foisted Moffitt on the team. At their first meeting, Troy had given up his earlier hopes. Moffitt was so stiff and starched and formal that Troy couldn't begin to think of a way to feel him out, and didn't want to anyway. And although Troy quickly, if grudgingly, realized that the Rat Patrol needed Moffitt, the inevitable personality clash between the two sergeants had led to a prickly working relationship.
And yet, and yet. . . . Troy felt that he was beginning to get some glimpses of a more likeable Moffitt, somewhere under the spit and polish. The Englishman took to the finer points of commando work with gusto, occasionally exhibiting a wicked sense of humor. And every once in a great while, he produced a huge cockeyed grin that Troy found irresistible.
On their most recent mission, Troy had seen another side of Moffitt. When Moffitt had talked with Abu Hassan, an Arab working for the German Propaganda Ministry, it had quickly become apparent which man was a traitor to his race, and which one a true son of the desert. Troy wondered whether Moffitt's exaggerated propriety was a result of his discomfort with Western ways, and what it would be like to see him in his element.
The chance came sooner than he expected.
"Troy!" The lanky Englishman burst into the bar, heading directly for Troy's corner table. "They told me I could find you here." He was holding a scrap of paper in one hand.
"What is it?" Troy asked.
Moffitt pulled out a chair and sat down, catching his breath. "We have received a most unusual invitation. Do you know who Sheik Ibrahim is?" Troy shook his head. "He's a very powerful chieftain whose tribe generally ranges a fair distance south of here. My father had reached a kind of alliance with him many years ago and he helped us out a number of times. For some reason, he and his people have come north, temporarily I think. They've set up an encampment about twenty miles from here, and they've invited us--you and me--for a visit."
"Why?"
Moffitt shrugged. "I don't know. That's the odd part. I'm tempted to think that he's just seized upon the opportunity for a reunion, but we've been closer to his sphere of influence than this and he's never bothered to contact me before." He fell silent, thinking. "I don't think he wants to approach the Allies, either. His territory is quite safe from the fighting. He has no reason to treat with us."
"Maybe it has something to do with Abu Hassan," Troy hazarded. "Or Faisal."
"Just because they're Arabs doesn't mean they know each other, Troy," said Moffitt, irritated. "They're quite a heterogeneous group."
"I know that," said Troy, also irritated. "I'm just trying to think of some recent event that might have spurred this invitation, and that's the most recent thing we've done, unless you want to count ordering this beer."
"Sorry, Troy," Moffitt said. "You're right, of course." As quickly as the Englishman could irritate him, Troy reflected, he was also willing to admit when he'd been wrong, a rare and refreshing trait.
"Forget it," said Troy. "Should we round up Hitch and Tully?"
"No," said Moffitt, unfolding the piece of paper and rereading the Arabic script. "The invitation is very specific. It's just for you and me. And it requests that we come with all due expediency."
"Then what are we waiting around here for?" Troy asked, standing up. "Let's shake it!"
They stopped back at the barracks, where Troy left word for Hitch and Tully and changed into a clean uniform. Moffitt changed as well, though Troy did his best to ignore him. Ironically, although the close quarters imposed by Army life gave any man plenty of opportunity to see other men nude, Troy was concerned that his interest might become obvious should he be caught gawking. Thus desire made him shy, and in the midst of a banquet he was on a strict diet. He had seen his men naked dozens of times, but had never actually looked at them.
Troy signed out a jeep and let Moffitt drive, since Moffitt knew where they were going. It was about a half-hour's drive to the encampment. The Allied outpost was near an oasis, and once they left behind the scattered dingy buildings, they began to drive through scrubby, gray-green vegetation. Eventually the plant life faded out altogether, and they continued on through barren, rocky land, deeper into the desert regions.
The sheik's encampment was tucked behind a hill and guarded on all sides. A sentry hailed them as they approached, but waved them through when Moffitt pulled the scrawled invitation from his pocket. They proceeded into an orderly array of tents, with a large central tent flanked by a number of smaller ones. Off to one side was a small goatpen and an area where several camels were tethered. Moffitt parked the jeep in an empty patch of ground near the camels--but not too near--and they headed for the central tent.
As they entered, the bright late-afternoon sunlight vanished, replaced by the dim light that filtered through the fabric. While Troy was still half-blinded, a big man in ornate robes came forward and enveloped Moffitt in a bear hug. "Son of the crazy Englishman!" he exclaimed. "How are you, my friend?" He turned to Troy. "And this must be your commander, who I've heard so much about." Troy stuck out his hand, hoping to avoid a hug. "Sam Troy," he said politely.
"Ibrahim, a humble servant of Allah," said the big man, grasping his hand firmly. "I am pleased that you two are able to join us." He guided them into the middle of the tent, where a number of men in Arab garb sat on cushions in a circle, eating and talking quietly. "Troy, you sit here," he said. "I'll have someone bring you food and drink. Jack, come this way for a moment." Moffitt vanished with the sheik and Troy looked around the circle of men. A few glanced his way, some with curiosity, others with apparent hostility, but no one spoke to him. A servant came and pressed a cup into his hand and Troy thanked him with a nod. It was the sour milk favored by many tribes in this area; nourishing, no doubt, and while Troy had never really learned to like it, he had tasted far worse during this campaign.
His eyes were now fully adjusted to the dim light, and he looked around the tent. Ever the strategist, he was on the watch for possible entrances, exits, and hiding places. Suddenly his eye was struck by one of the Arabs, a tall, lean man who moved with a sinewy grace in his flowing robes. Troy watched him for a moment, admiring. The man came closer, and unexpectedly dropped down into a sitting position beside him in a single fluid movement. "Hallo, Troy," said Moffitt.
Troy caught his breath. The gawky, stiff Englishman in the proper uniform had vanished. Troy struggled to keep his voice steady. "Hello, Moffitt."
Moffitt nodded toward one of the groups of men. "Have you been introduced?"
"No," said Troy. "And they don't look as if they want to play party games."
Moffitt smiled. "The men closest to us are members of Sheik Ibrahim's tribe. I don't think they harbor any ill-will toward us. The others are another story. Ibrahim took me aside, on the pretext of finding suitable clothing, and filled me in. You see the man over there at about two o'clock?" Troy glanced and nodded. Moffitt continued. "That is Mohammed Hassan. His father and Abu Hassan's father were brothers. Now, his side of the family never forgave Abu Hassan's father for moving to the United States, and they despised Abu Hassan for being so thoroughly Americanized."
"So Faisal did them a favor."
Moffitt frowned. "Despite the bad feeling between the two sides of the family, blood is thicker than water. They have come here to learn from us the circumstances of Abu Hassan's death. If they decide that it is our fault, there will be unpleasant repercussions." Moffitt spoke casually, but Troy had learned to read him of late, and realized that this was a serious matter.
"Do you think they might ally themselves with the Germans?" Troy asked.
"Possibly," Moffitt admitted. "Also, since Ibrahim and my father were close, they might use my involvement as a weapon against him. There is some kind of power struggle going on among the southern tribes. Troy, we don't want the Hassan family to be the winners."
"We shouldn't have to worry," said Troy. "Faisal killed Abu Hassan."
Moffitt nodded. "We'll just have to persuade them of that."
A servant brought them a tray of food, and their conversation was temporarily interrupted as they dug into the boiled kid and couscous. "Moffitt," Troy said between mouthfuls, "why was Sheik Ibrahim close to your father? I thought most Arabs resented intrusions by Europeans, even the archaeologists."
"My father hired a number of people from this tribe to help on an dig," Moffitt said. He thought for a moment. "About twenty years ago. They set up a temporary camp next to us, some days' journey from the rest of their people. I was a child of ten. I ran errands in the morning and played with the Arab boys the rest of the day. There was a well that supplied water to the dig, and it became contaminated.
"My father contacted the university, and they sent a supply expedition almost immediately with truckloads of bottled water. It must have been enormously expensive. They also sent a team to decontaminate the well, but it was going to take a few days . They sent only enough water for the administrators, like my father, the decontaminating team, and the student workers from the university. My father got back on the radio and told them that unless they sent another load of water--enough for the Arab workers--he would close the dig and send everyone home. There was a lot of prestige for the archaeology program riding on the success of this project, and they agreed. I don't know how those workers would have survived otherwise. From that moment on, his relationship to the tribe went from an uneasy contract to a solid friendship."
"Your father sounds like a good man," said Troy.
Moffitt flashed a brief smile. "Thank you," he said.
When the meal had ended, the sheik stood in the center of the group and called for attention. "I am pleased to welcome two sets of guests this day," he said politely in English. "I am honored to be host to Mohammed Hassan and his kin--" he bowed deeply toward that group, receiving a curt nod in response--"and to Sergeants Troy and Moffitt of the Long Range Desert Group, a special Allied intelligence unit." Moffitt rose, and Troy came to his feet along with him. Troy copied Moffitt's deep bow as best he could, and noted that the sheik seemed pleased. Both sergeants resumed their seats, and Ibrahim continued. "We are here to learn from these men of the manner in which Abu Hassan, cousin of Mohammed Hassan, died. Sergeant Troy, please begin."
Troy told the story of their adventure simply, explaining how they had found themselves trapped in the ruins with Dietrich, Abu Hassan, and a couple of German soldiers, with Faisal and his men outside preparing for an attack. Moffitt filled in the occasional detail and translated for the others when Troy used an unfamiliar word or phrase. When Troy described how Abu Hassan had gone out to attempt a meeting with Faisal, he was interrupted.
"None of our people would approach Faisal in that manner," exclaimed Mohammed Hassan, disbelieving.
"Abu Hassan had forgotten who he was," Moffitt said.
There was a stir among the other visitors, and Mohammed spoke coldly. "Are you accusing my cousin of ghaflah?"
"I need accuse him of nothing," said Moffitt with equal coldness. "His own words and actions have convicted him. He spoke of his own people and their beliefs with scorn. He had become an infidel."
There was a murmuring among the visitors. Although Troy could not understand the rapid Arabic that passed among them, he recognized the tone: sullen, resentful, but resigned. Moffitt took the opportunity to lean over to Troy and whispered, "Ghaflah is the greatest sin a Moslem can commit. It means 'forgetfulness,' specifically, forgetting your proper place in the universe and instead putting yourself in the place of Allah."
"We will not debate this now," said Mohammed brusquely. "Continue."
Troy described Abu Hassan's slow, cruel death as Faisal's sharpshooters inflicted one non-mortal wound after another, allowing time to lapse between each shot. "We wanted to help him, but we couldn't," Troy finished. "Anyone we sent after him would have been killed too."
Mohammed Hassan was about to speak again, when Ibrahim interrupted. "A man who would work for the Germans, a man who would try to parlay with Faisal on behalf of the white devils--such a man has indeed forgotten who he is. If Abu Hassan was ever one of us, he certainly was not when he died. His death was clearly the result of his own foolishness and pride."
Two of Mohammed Hassan's men opened their mouths as if to protest; their leader made a gesture for silence. Then he spoke in a grave and thoughtful voice. "We are forced to agree. If your account is true, Abu Hassan's blood is not on your hands." He paused, weighing his next words, evidently deciding to say something he was reluctant to disclose. "What you have said is. . . in keeping with my cousin as I knew him." Abruptly he rose, gathering his men around him. "We thank you for your forthrightness, Sergeants, and for your hospitality, Sheik Ibrahim. We wish to retire now for the evening." Even Troy, unfamiliar with Arab customs, sensed that this sudden departure was rude, but Ibrahim was gracious, though very formal, and sent for servants to show his guests to their quarters. As they left, Troy could hear some of Hassan's men still grumbling, and Hassan's voice raised in reprimand.
When the Hassan party had left, Ibrahim came and sat down by Troy and Moffitt. The sheik eyed both of them for a moment before he spoke. "I must thank you, my friends," he said. "I could not have invented a better death for Abu Hassan myself."
"We didn't invent anything," Troy began to protest.
Moffitt laid a hand on his shoulder, indicating silence. "Allah sees that each man has the fate he deserves," he said quietly.
"Praised be Allah, the merciful!" said Ibrahim enthusiastically. "I have had guest tents prepared for both of you. I shall have a servant lead you there."
"You are very kind," said Moffitt. Ibrahim clapped his hands, and a servant standing by the entryway motioned for a guide to come.
The sheik pulled Troy aside just as he was about to leave for his tent. "The nights are long and cold, Sergeant Troy," said Ibrahim. "I can arrange for your bed to be warmer, should you desire." Troy hesitated. He was frankly not interested, but did not wish to offend his host. Sensing his reluctance, the sheik added graciously, "I understand that your Western ways are different from ours, but it is my desire to accommodate my guests. I'm sure I can arrange for a very pretty girl for you."
Seeing a way out, Troy said, "Your offer is very kind, but I can't put you to the trouble."
The sheik smiled, a small, private, puzzling smile. "Sleep well, my guest. You are welcome here."
"Good night, sir, and thank you."
Troy paced the tent he had been assigned. Sheik Ibrahim's wealth was evident; the guest tent, though small, was luxuriously appointed. An inviting bed beckoned from one of the corners, but Troy could not sleep. The image of Moffitt, moving with the dangerous grace of a panther, tantalized his mind and his heart. Somehow his friend seemed more approachable here, and despite his trepidation, Troy did not want to lose the opportunity. Not giving himself time to think and change his mind, he moved with sudden resolve through the tent flap of his own tent and into the adjacent tent assigned to Moffitt.
Moffitt's tent was the same size as Troy's, about eight feet square, and also beautifully decorated. Moffitt was sitting on a cushion pouring tea into a tiny glass. "Troy!" he exclaimed warmly, looking up as Troy came in. Troy suddenly realized that he had no plausible cover story, should Moffitt ask his reason for visiting. He was trying to come up with one when Moffitt continued, "One of the servants just delivered an excellent pot of Arab tea, and I was hoping for someone to share it with." He smiled up at Troy and pointed to a nearby cushion. "Care to join me?"
If you only knew, Troy thought to himself ironically, sitting down cross-legged.
Moffitt took another glass from an exquisite tea service on the floor, filled it and handed it to Troy. Troy sniffed cautiously at the beverage. Moffitt grinned. "This is the good stuff. It's been boiled down at least four or five times, and there's several days' ration of sugar and mint in there as well. It's a good indication that our host thinks highly of us."
"Glad to hear it," said Troy, taking a sip. He didn't like tea, but this didn't taste like the kind of tea he was used to anyway. He took another sip. Moffitt finished his tea and reached for the pot. Troy watched him quizzically. "You seem quite at home here."
Moffitt smiled. "I grew up here, remember? My father and I often stayed with local tribes when we were out exploring, and I spent years in the deep desert doing my graduate research." He paused, watching Troy closely, and added, "There are many. . . elements of the nomadic life with which I am comfortable."
Troy met Moffitt's eyes, wondering what exactly the Englishman meant. He remembered that many Arab tribes did not frown upon sexual relations between men. Moffitt's eyes were clear and steady, and Troy wondered whether an offer had just been extended, or whether he was reading too much into a chance remark. He drew breath to answer, but was abruptly interrupted.
There was a rustling at the tent flaps, and two men in Arab robes rushed in. They were both intent on Moffitt. The first man reached Moffitt as Troy was jumping up to intercept the other, and from the corner of his eye, Troy glimpsed the flash of a knife in the first man's hand. The second man was startled; Troy's presence was clearly unexpected. Troy seized the advantage and knocked his man down immediately with a powerful uppercut, then turned to the other.
The first man, knife upraised, was struggling with Moffitt, who had been knocked down by the initial momentum of the attack. Troy yanked the knife away and spun the man around to face him. Recovering quickly, the man aimed a blow at Troy, who blocked it and delivered a one-two combination that sent the assailant sprawling to the ground. The second man was picking himself up; Troy dropped him with a kick. Then he went back to Moffitt.
Moffitt sat up as Troy came over. His left sleeve was cut open, and a long narrow bleeding gash scored across his upper arm. Troy ripped the rest of the sleeve off, used it to wipe off the blood, and pressed it against the wound. With the excess blood wiped away, the cut appeared shallow.
"Hold that," Troy ordered, pressing Moffitt's right hand firmly on the wadded-up cloth pressed against the cut. "Where's your pack?"
"Over there, to your left," said Moffitt. Troy found it and pulled out the first aid kit. As he was bandaging Moffitt's arm, shouts and running feet were heard from outside the tent, and a moment later the sheik's chief guard appeared, flanked by two more guards and followed by Ibrahim himself. "What has happened?" demanded the sheik.
Troy gestured to the two men on the floor. "They tried to kill Moffitt."
Pushing past the guards, Ibrahim came into the tent and knelt beside Moffitt. Looking at him with concern, he asked, "Have you been seriously harmed, my friend?"
Troy watched carefully as Moffitt answered, "No, the injury is quite superficial. I think it's already stopped bleeding."
The sheik looked to Troy for confirmation. "I think he's OK, but I'll keep an eye on him for a while."
"If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to send for it," said their host graciously. He beckoned the chief guard in. "Who are these men?"
The chief guard squatted down and examined the two. "I recognize them from the Hassan party. They were displeased when he chose to accept your account of Abu Hassan's death."
"While Moffitt and Troy are my guests, they are under my protection," said Ibrahim sternly. "Go at once to the tents where the representatives of the house of Hassan are housed and bring Mohammed Hassan to my tent. I will speak with him shortly. I do not suspect him of instigating this attack, but if he cannot control his household, he is not welcome here."
The guard bowed. Directing his men to remove the intruders, he turned on his heel and left. The other guards came in and dragged the two men out.
Once the guards had left, Ibrahim unexpectedly smiled at Troy. "This unfortunate incident has proven even more advantageous to me than harmful to you, I admit. I now have the provocation that I need to deny Hassan my political support. He has already lost face in the eyes of our people, and I now have the upper hand."
"You suspected this might happen, didn't you?" Troy asked.
The sheik shrugged. "I foresaw the possibility."
"You didn't do anything to protect Moffitt!" Troy said angrily.
Ibrahim smiled. "I knew something our enemy did not know. I knew you'd be here. As it turned out, that was all the protection your friend needed."
Troy was startled. "How did you know I'd be here?"
The sheik merely smiled. "Good night, gentlemen," he said, and left.
Troy turned to Moffitt. "How did he know?" he asked.
Moffitt looked thoughtful. "Did he offer you a girl for the night?"
"Well, yes," Troy admitted. "I turned him down as politely as I could."
Moffitt nodded. "He may have jumped to a certain conclusion," he said.
Troy took a deep breath. He'd be a fool to turn down this opportunity to speak up. "Do you think it was really a jump?" he asked.
Again that clear-eyed look as Moffitt met his eyes without hesitation. "Sometimes an outsider can see clearly what the people involved are too close to see," he said.
This time Troy was sure of Moffitt's meaning. Leaning closer, he put a hand on the back of Moffitt's neck and drew him forward into a kiss. Moffitt responded warmly, kissing him back . After the first moment, they broke apart and stared at each other for a moment. Wordlessly, Moffitt reached up a hand to caress Troy's face, stroking down his cheek, tracing the jawline, moving down his neck to his chest, and then they moved together again.
They quickly dispensed with the encumbrance of clothing, and Troy finally allowed himself to feast his eyes. He was not disappointed; though thin, Moffitt was wiry rather than bony, with a smooth layer of hard muscle under the well-tanned skin. Then Moffitt, putting his arms around Troy, pulled them both down to lie among the cushions.
Troy had plenty of experience with men, but his encounters had mostly been rough-and-ready, conducted with more enthusiasm than subtlety. Now, as Moffitt's hand moved down Troy's chest and abdomen, Troy realized that his partner's experience had included variety and refinement. Moffitt caressed him with a skill and sensitivity that brought Troy quickly to the brink, and he had to restrain himself to keep from coming immediately. Taking command of himself, Troy moved his hands over Moffitt's body, causing him to sigh and move even closer; Troy began to concentrate his efforts, and had the pleasure of watching his friend lose control.
Troy had fantasized about this moment and pictured himself either riding Moffitt like a stallion, or being taken by him and filled to the utmost; but the sheer excitement of mutual contact brought them both to an abrupt completion.
Troy started to apologize, but Moffitt would hear none of it, shushing him with a kiss. A set of damp towels had come with the tea service; Moffitt reached for them and began gently cleaning Troy and himself off. "We have plenty of time ahead of us, Troy," he said.
"Until one of us gets captured or killed," Troy objected. He meant for his voice to sound harsh, but it was hard to accomplish with a damp towel stroking his stomach, and it came out regretful instead.
Moffitt chuckled. "Or until Dietrich comes between us."
Troy remembered his recent experience, chained to Dietrich in the desert. "I wouldn't mind that," he said, yawning.
Moffitt stopped what he was doing. "What?"
"Mmmm," Troy said. "You do what you were doing just now, and I'll join in--between the two of us, he'll come!"
Moffitt laughed. Finishing with the towel, he pulled a blanket up over the two of them and snuggled down among the cushions next to Troy.
Troy awoke early the next morning, disoriented. He was accustomed to awakening alone, in a bedroll on the hard ground out in the open. Instead he found himself in a tent, on a soft surface, with a luxuriant blanket pulled over him and a warm body close beside. He lay there and enjoyed it for a few moments while his awakening memory gradually filled in the events of the night before. "Mmmm," he said half-aloud to himself, and wrapped himself around Moffitt, who was curled up on his side.
The warm presence next to him was hard to ignore. Troy found himself unable to resist running his hands over Moffitt's body, especially when Moffitt reacted by stretching and purring like a cat. Troy ran his hand along Moffitt's side to his hip, then moved down to his buttocks; Moffitt responded by spreading his legs slightly. Troy slipped his hand between Moffitt's legs; finding his scrotum, Troy cupped it in his hand and gently rolled the balls within. Moffitt reached forward and rummaged in a pack on the floor; leaning back, he handed it to Troy. It was a small vial of oil: an obvious invitation. "Are you sure?" asked Troy. "Mm-hmm," said his partner. Troy pushed gently on Moffitt's hip to roll him over, and was surprised to find resistance. "Like this," Moffitt said.
In Troy's experience, penetration involved a partner on his stomach, or possibly and somewhat gymnastically on his back. He had never tried it before lying on his side, and was surprised to find it easy. Moffitt was obviously experienced and did some subtle wriggling to get things lined up properly; an easy rocking motion accomplished the rest. The sensation was immensely gratifying. Troy found himself kneading Moffitt's hip with one hand, and nuzzling his shoulder. An experimental nip on Moffitt's shoulderblade brought a sharp intake of breath from the Englishman. "Do that again," Moffitt whispered. Troy bit gently on the area between the neck and shoulderblade, and sucked hard. Moffitt gasped and cried out, arching his back and pressing his whole body tightly against Troy's. Troy began thrusting more urgently, matching his friend's increasing arousal, until they were both fully satisfied, reaching a mutual climax that was all the more intense for its slow buildup.
Troy remained where he was for several minutes, then rolled onto his back. "Whew," he said.
"Whew indeed," said Moffitt, rolling over to face Troy and giving him one of those rare wide mischievous grins. Troy found himself grinning back. For a long moment they said nothing.
"I suppose we'd better be getting up," Troy said finally.
Moffitt nodded. "I suppose so. It being morning, and all."
As they were cleaning up and getting dressed, Troy noticed that Moffitt was resuming his uniform, not his Arab attire. Troy pointed to the robes piled on the floor. "But I liked that."
"I could tell," said Moffitt dryly. "But I don't want to risk overstaying our welcome. We've played our part in a crucial powerplay for Ibrahim, and I imagine he wants to get on to the next phase."
"He owes us," said Troy. "Big time."
"He won't forget," said Moffitt. Then he slapped Troy's rear end. "I'd say we owe him too, wouldn't you?"
Troy nodded. "Big time."
The trip back to the base was quiet. Troy let Moffitt drive again, and sat looking at the desert scenery and letting his mind wander. His feelings were mixed: the events of the night had left him with a glowing memory of pleasure and delight, but he realized how fragile and vulnerable this new happiness would be. A single bullet could end it all.
"Penny for your thoughts," said Moffitt.
Troy hesitated. "Just. . . do me a favor, okay? Don't get yourself killed."
"Do my best," said Moffitt. Then he looked over at Troy, and brought the jeep to a halt. They were alone under the pale hot sky, flat miles stretching empty around them. "Whatever time we have, Troy, we'll make it count," Moffitt said earnestly, pulling Troy close for a sudden, unexpected kiss. Releasing Troy, he gunned the motor and they were once again on their way. Troy found himself staring out at the landscape again, but this time with a ridiculous smile on his face.
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