He called her 'baby' sometimes when they were making love. 'Baby' it was so 1940's but she loved it when he called her that in the night, just the two of them in each other's arms.
She realized that she loved him and when they went back, as he often reminded her they would, she would not give him up. She'd break the regs. ('What were they doing now?'), she would resign her commission, she would humiliate herself by begging for an exception but she would not turn her back on him.
Most mornings she woke before the sun rose to the almighty racket of the song birds. Considering the slum dwellers voracious attempt to eat every last one it was amazing that they continued to flaunt their existence.
When she awoke the first thing her conscious mind did was search for him. Most often the comforting warmth or his busy hands assured her that he lie by her side but not always. Many days he was heating water for tea, if they had any, or he watched the sun rise as he worked the kinks out of his bones and aching muscles.
Some days, and these she dreaded the most, she found him taking stock of their gear and cleaning their weapons. She supposed the familiar feel under his fingers grounded him, giving him hope of returning to his former life but she was sure it was just the opposite. She thought it was a sign of hopelessness, of a despair that indicated only violence was the solution. Only violence would return them and, more likely than not, it would only procure him a new home in a shallow grave.
He wanted more for her and for himself; he wanted a future for them. It was only his aching body and the rusting weapons that stood in the way of total impotence and defeat.
Sam tried to subvert his mood by luring him back to bed but it was not his need but hers that he responded to. And there were mornings and days that nothing could drag him up from the depths of self doubt, hopelessness and feelings of abandonment. Not even the song of the birds, as the last glimmer of the stars of the night gave way to the dawn, gave him peace.
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It wasn't just sex; they made love. It was the need to give and it was raw need. It was desire and lust. It was years of not knowing and years of want. It was passion and obsession. It was gentleness and caring. It was beyond words and as simple as a kiss. And he wondered sometime what she would do if someone stronger or younger or more attractive came along and had more to give her.
Sometimes he would withdraw into himself and the coldness of despair would drip from his icy fingers but she would come and sit by him lean her head against his chest and let him know that she needed him. If he left her behind she would wither and die; she would not turn her back on him and expected the same from him. And for her he always relented.