Chapter 29: Taran

Two flawless days together have convinced me of one thing; I'm in imminent danger of falling in love with the enemy.
Diogo has shown me what happiness can look like. Not the fleeting happiness of eating something rare and delicious. Not the unsubstantial happiness of a sunrise over the desert. It's not even the moment of deep satisfaction when I lead refugees to safety and find them Sanctuary. It's not the feelings I had for my family, that constant feeling of comfort, knowing that I'm loved unconditionally.
No, this is something different, something more. This feeling is far more dangerous. It's sharp, terrifying, almost painful, but utterly exhilarating. It's something I've never really experienced in this desperate life of survival. Of watching each day pass with the relentless gnawing feeling that death is just around the corner.
Hope. I feel hope for myself, for the future. It's like standing on a ledge and reaching out for something that I know could hurt me but is completely worth the risk.
I study Diogo where he sits across from me. We're on the roof sitting cross-legged, both of our arms elbow deep in soil that he's had stored for planting more of his precious seeds. He's showing me how to grow plants from seeds. I'm enjoying the sensation of the rich, moist dirt sifting through my fingers. I've never really liked dirt before. Everything is dusty in our desert Sanctuary. It gets in the hair, teeth, clothes. It coats every surface where windows aren't available to keep it out. It creeps, encroaches on everything. But this dirt is different. It'll nurture life, help create the food we need to survive.
Diogo is looking more relaxed these past two days. We've avoided discussing his position in the city and my objections to that position. We've insulated ourselves from the world and created a safe haven for just the two of us. I should be planning my escape, a future without him. I should be pushing him to give me information on his military and their movements. But the truth is I don't want to know. I'm content just taking this time out. I've never done anything like this. I've never taken even a single day to myself. The slowing down of time is a precious feeling so I'm taking this fleeting moment of happiness and squeezing it to my chest. Sharing it with Diogo, my husband.
"Now you dig a little well in the centre of the soil," he explains patiently, lifting my hand from where I'd buried it deep into the warm, slightly damp dirt. He shapes my fingers into a little bowl and then cups his big hand around mine. He turns our hands over and digs at the dirt, creating a hole.
My breath catches at the exquisite feeling of his touch. Those long, skilled fingers slipping between mine, guiding my hand with gentle precision. I shiver as an image of him running his hands down my body floods my mind. His touch is possessive but also tender when he explores each curve, taps his fingers against my ribs and hipbones, dips his tongue into my ears, my navel, the arch of my foot, everything... as he learns every facet. He's even explored my knees and my toes, explaining that he wants to know every part as intimately as he knows himself.
"Yesterday we dug rows in the dirt," I say, my voice husky and my face flushing with the after-effects of memory. "Why are we digging a well today?"
He flashes me a smile. I suspect that Diogo doesn't smile. I've certainly never seen it on the rare occasions I've seen him at a public ceremony. Grim lines fan out from his lips and eyes, marking the fierce seriousness that he's become known for. Yet, over the past couple of days, his beautiful, hard lips have stretched more and more, tilting upward at one corner. Just for me.
"Yesterday we were planting carrots. Today we're planting something different. Your favourite."
"Tomatoes!" I exclaim, grinning at him.
"Tomatoes," he agrees.
I feel happiness as I finish digging the little well and then watch as he places a couple of seeds in the dirt. Then he reaches across the pot, takes my hand in his and uses my fingers to cover the tiny seeds, or ‘put them to bed' as he calls it.
"This plant is yours now." He strokes the back of my dirty hand with his long, soil-covered fingers, sending sparks shooting through my veins. I cling to each precious word. "You'll take care of it, Taran. You'll water it each morning first thing, and then again before bed. Maybe more if it's a hot day. You don't want the soil to get too dry or it'll become hostile to your seedling. It won't grow as big or strong as you want it to."
"Like children," I murmur.
"Or any living creature. We all need sun, water and air to survive."
I can feel the light dimming from my eyes and I look away. "We also need food, Diogo. Not just one or two sectors, but all of us."
"Don't," he says, his fingers tightening around mine, refusing to let me go.
I try to crush the desperate feeling rising up inside me. I suspect we're reaching the end of our truce, but before we can ruin the serenity with a fight, Garrett crashes through the door, throwing it back until it cracks against the wall. I flinch back, expecting an attack while Diogo reaches for his knife, which is lying on the ground beside us. I barely have time to blink and Diogo is on his feet, standing protectively in front of me, the knife held out in front of him, low and ready to take out an intruder.
"Commander, your radio!" Garrett gasps, trying to catch his breath.
"Left it inside," Diogo growls. "What's going on?"
"Primitives," he says grimly. "Inside the city. Moving around the West side of the wall, toward the slums."
"Fuck!" Diogo snarls. "There're thousands of people packed into the slums. If we have a Primitive outbreak over there, the city could fall."
I sit crouched on my hands and knees, stunned by this news. In the years that I've been in this Sanctuary I've never known Primitives to be able to get through the wall and inside the city. Despite his harsh method of leadership, Diogo has to be commended for his ability to keep the walls strong and the Primitives out.
"Tell Jorje I'll meet him at checkpoint 37 outside the western sector. I'll be there in ten minutes. If his team arrives before mine he's to engage immediately. They are to exterminate any Primitives on site." Diogo doesn't say a word to me as he follows Garrett through the door and back inside the building. I leap to my feet and follow them down the steps, my bare feet slapping against the concrete as I run after them.
"Where do you want me, Commander?"
When we enter the apartment, Diogo goes straight for his weapons locker. "Stay here," he says gruffly. "If anyone but me enters this suite you have my permission to take them out."
Garrett falls silent, but I see his expression. He's disappointed that he won't get to join the Warlord for this battle.
Diogo pulls weapons from his locker including a sidearm, a rifle and a bullet belt. I swallow as he pulls a heavy coat on and begins strapping his array of weapons to his belt. He slings the rifle over his back crossing the strap over his chest. His gaze flickers up to mine as though he can hear my silent screams of fear and anxiety.
I know it's pointless, but still I say, "Take me with you, I can help."
He turns away, striding toward the door, completely ignoring my plea.
"Diogo!" I beg.
He pauses before swinging the door open and glances back at me.
"I lived in the slums, I know them. Those are my people, my friends," I cry desperately. "I can help! I'm trained with most weapons and I'm accurate with a rifle."
He says nothing as his eyes travel down my body. I'm wearing a small shirt and a pair of pants, both perfectly fitted to my frame and made of good quality material. I'd checked the stitching when he first presented the clothing to me, it was perfectly even, made by a sewing machine. Such machinery is a luxury, so he must've had the clothes specially designed. His eyes stop on my bare feet and his face softens for just a second.
"Please, Diogo," I beg. I can't stand the thought of my friends being in danger. Or of him being hurt. I feel this driving need to watch over him, protect him as he rushes into battle.
His eyes flash back up and his face is wiped of all expression, serious and stony once more. Wordlessly he leaves. I stare after him, fighting the urge to follow, knowing he would just send me back or Garrett would stop me from going.
As if sensing my feelings, Garrett comes to stand next to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. I look at him, surprised. Diogo would cut that hand off if he saw it on anywhere near me, let alone touching a part of me. Still, I sense only the desire to comfort.
"He's good at his job, Taran, he'll come back." He gives my shoulder a squeeze before letting go and stepping back a safe distance.
"And my friends? What about them?" I ask, a shiver running through my words.
Garrett doesn't respond.