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Cetshyayo
by Purna
http://purna.livejournal.com
The hotel room is about the size of a shoebox and smells tired and worn, like the people who pass through it. Scotty paces the narrow space available to him, eight steps from wall to wall.
"You're going to walk a hole in the floor," Kelly says from his spot on one of the beds, his arm draped over his eyes.
Scotty says nothing and continues to pace, the thrumming restlessness overcoming the fatigue of too long without rest, too long in the cold Japanese current, too much anger at a man who cloaked the evil that he did in a righteous cause.
Kelly sits up, propping himself on his elbows behind him. "I'm sorry about Jia-ju," he says in a quiet, careful voice.
Scotty freezes. He's lost in the memory suddenly, running, half-falling down the cliff, too slow, too late to stop the knife from descending. Jia-ju's scream echoes in his ears, and he remembers how she crumbled to the sand like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Did you love her?" Kelly asks, and that's Kelly all over, always pushing a little, cutting to the heart of things. Scotty looks over, and Kelly's expression is casual, the easy smile he hides behind.
Their partnership is both less and more than a marriage. They suit each other, their strengths and weaknesses balancing out. They protect each other, tend to each other's wounds, read each other's minds. They work well together.
They also play well together, but the sex is not something they really talk about. Because as close as they are, they both know that their bond goes beyond bodies and sexual fidelity.
"I liked her," Scotty says finally. "I liked her a lot. I could have loved her."
"I'm sorry," Kelly says. He shifts on the bed, making room beside him. He doesn't ask, he never asks the question out loud, but Scotty knows the look in his eyes.
He goes over and carefully lies down on the bed, his back to Kelly. He lies there dry-eyed and doesn't shrug off the arm that Kelly drapes around him.
Scotty sighs a little, and Kelly's grip tightens.
Cetshyayo, the last Zulu king, had been wrong about many things, not the least of which was justifying the subjugation of a village to pursue revenge for the subjugation of his people. But he had spoken of loyalty, had talked of his men as his brothers and sons. On that subject at least, Scotty could find agreement with him.
Because Cetshyayo had been most wrong when he claimed that that sort of loyalty was unknown in Scotty's world.
Scotty lies there, Kelly at his back, the warmth of the man seeping into him, easing the chill of grief. He has Kelly, and Kelly has him. That never changes, will not change except in death.
They have each other. When all else is lost, they know this much is true.
With that thought in mind, Scotty finally closes his eyes and is able to sleep.
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