John was mad.
Damn, that man could scream.
They all care so much. I had time. Actually, I was buying us more time and trying to keep ahead of things, but I didn't try to explain it to him. John would not understand; he would call me selfish and heartless. It would not be a first.
Was he screaming louder? He was. He was amusing when he raised his tone, mainly because he wasn't really trying to be scary. He was just rambling to make himself feel better, even though he knew his yelling would take no effect.
Ah, the soldier. The good and honour above all. The doing the right thing.
I was doing the right thing. I didn't want those bombs to explode, and another wasted life wouldn't be an advantage. I never want anyone to die, but showing compassion doesn't solve a case, does it? It only wastes people's time. My time. My brain was shaped to be practical, to solve things, to make them rational. To work. It wasn't shaped to care, to feel empathy.
John is shouting that I am heartless now. Ah, predictable. If I am heartless, why am I even bothering solving the case before the bomb explodes? They don't understand. Not even John.
The clock is ticking. My brain is working fast and well. John is still complaining, although his shouting is less fervent. He is still very angry.
He's adorable.
I smile.
He sees it.
He comes closer and pulls at my arm, making me face him. He is accusing me of many different things, all a lie. He reproves my smile on a situation like this.
I tell him to calm down, I have figured it out.
He doesn't listen, he is still angry, shouting at me.
I hold his face with both my hands and kiss him tenderly, feeling his rigid body against my own. He isn't shouting anymore. He is kissing back, forgotten about the anger, the case, the bombs, the people we are supposed to save. He relaxes now.
I pull away, still holding his face. His heart paces fast, his breath his uneven. He looks me in the eye, dilated pupils, and leans closer, his mouth open, ready to find mine again.
Not now, I tell him. We have a case to solve, remember?
But the promise to continue is there, implied. And I will keep it.