Edward Crichton - To Crown a Caesar

“A month,” Artie answered sadly.

“A month, eh?” I asked. “A fucking month!? We’ve been stuck in Rome for five years! Five years!”

“How could you possibly blame us for that, Jacob?” She asked.

“Do you know what we’ve gone through?! What I’ve gone through?! Do you know how many times I’ve had to watch things happen that have been slowly pecking away at my soul?” I yelled, poking my head and chest in frustration, my anger burning inside me. “Years!”

“Hunter, you’re the expert here,” Archer said, holding a hand out to calm me down. “All we know is what you described in your journal, which sorry to say, some of which was lost. And you didn’t really do a great job describing time travel theory in there, anyway. Like you’ve said, you have had five years to think about this. Your sister and the other scientists back home have only had a few weeks.”

Artie looked at Archer, finally some of that original resentment I knew she felt towards him surfacing. If it’s only been a few weeks like Artie said, they’re breakup was still technically rather fresh. Peace or no, I couldn’t imagine she was enjoying working with him.

“I’m an engineer, Archer, not a scientist. I do math. I don’t spend my time developing theoretical concepts about wibbly wobbly time travel theses.” She turned her attention back to me. “We don’t have much, Jacob, but I know how you think. To me, your journal read more like a movie script than a doctoral thesis. You always did watch too much TV. By the way, I’m sorry to say, your movie isn’t going to happen. The whole thing is classified.”

I looked at Helena again. “Figures.”

“You had a lot of pseudo-science in there,” Artie continued, “and don’t get me started on your claims of ‘magic.’ You can’t even imagine the laughs that got from the scientific think tank assigned to figure out your story.”

“That hardly seems fair,” I snapped in annoyance. “Those dorks are probably just compensating for all that time playing they’re little games about fairies and dragons. Losers…”

“Jacob, don’t pretend like you’ve never played those as a kid…”

“As a kid!” I quickly defended, glancing at, but not quite making eye contact with Helena. “I grew out of that like forever ago.”

Artie glanced at Helena.

“He’s the worst bluffer on the planet. It’s always so easy to tell when he’s lying. He hates the word, ‘like,’ but uses it constantly when he knows he’s wrong.”

I saw Helena looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t dare turn to look.

This is a nightmare. Sister and girlfriend in the same room together? God help me.

“No offense,” Archer interrupted, “but I can do without this little family reunion. I need to check on my men.”

“Wait, Archer, quick question,” I called before he could leave. Of all the questions I could think of, oddly, there was only on my mind. “Where’s that Balisong knife I gave you a few years ago?”

He cocked his head to the side quizzically. “What’s a Balisong knife?”

I gulped. “Also known as a butterfly knife…”

“Oh, right,” he said, pulling out a very familiar looking object from his pocket, flipping it open. “You mean a Xenophon knife.”

My head dropped to my chest before I snapped it back up, turning it towards Helena. “That fucking kid.”

“I told you,” she said, patting my hand.

Archer pointed at me, his face in a state of shock. “Wait a second… Xenophon Knives have one of the most mysterious origins out there. More so than Stonehenge or even the Bermuda Triangle. Legends go that it was designed by a child from Greece. They said it was impossible because it was made in a way and with materials that couldn’t be replicated for another two thousand years. The National History Museum in London still has the original one on display. No one understands it…” he paused. “Don’t tell me it was you!”

I shrugged. “Maybe…”

He grasped the side of his head with his hands and laughed. “I can’t believe it! I’ve discovered one of the world’s most unexplainable mysteries, and of all explanations, it was you who caused it! Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Still laughing to himself, and without offering any further ado, Archer threw his hands in the air, turned on his heels, and left.

Both Artie and I watched him go.

“There’s a history there with you three, isn’t there?” Helena asked.

Artie turned to face her, lowering her arms as she moved to stand in front of me. “You have no idea.” She stared at me for a few seconds, her eyes typically unreadable, before she punched me in the arm on my good side.

“Ow!” I barked. “What the hell was that for?”

She started punching me again, each of her next words accompanied by the jab of her fist.

“That’s. For. Scaring. Me. Half. To. Death!” She finished with an excessively hard slug.

“Stop it,” I whined. “I’m wounded.”

“Don’t give me, ‘wounded.’ Mom never wanted you to join the service in the first place, and now I know why! Look at where we are! I mean… you hate dad, why’d you even sign up?”

“Seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” I reasoned with a shrug.

She punched me again. “That’s not an answer.”

Helena leaned forward and smiled. “I like her.”

I groaned. It was bad enough Helena and Madrina were friends. This was a hundred times worse.

Artie turned to face her, looking at her as if legitimately noticing her for the very first time. After basically checking Helena out, scanning her from head to toe, Artie smiled and moved in to give her a very sisterly hug. Any stranger would think they’d known each other for years.

Artie could be like that. She’d always been the kind of person, even as an eight years old, to have no problem walking up to a complete stranger and saying “hi.” I never understood it, but at least as she got older, she matured when it came to putting herself out there like that.

I hadn’t needed to worry about her much once I’d become a SEAL.

Having SEALs for a brother and boyfriend had served her well. She was fully capable of defending herself. She didn’t have the natural pent up rage Helena had but she was feisty all the same.

“So, you must be Helena,” Artie said, still holding her tightly.

I looked at Helena. Her face was as nervous and awkward as I’ve ever seen it. She wasn’t used to this kind of personal affection from anybody but me either. Even a friend as close as Santino had rarely ever offered her a hug, but then again, hugs weren’t really his cup of tea. She patted Artie on the shoulder embarrassedly and looked at me uncomfortably.

Artie pulled back and held Helena out at arm’s length, analyzing her.

“I must say, Jacob,” she said, glancing at me. “Good job. She’s way prettier than I thought.”

Helena blushed and looked away. She looked no better than she had a few months ago prior to the operation where we rescued that young Roman girl, Julia.

Artie noticed her bashfulness.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” she reassured. “I’m just surprised to find someone who actually sees something in Jacob, let alone a hottie like you. Did you know that he never, not once, brought a girl home to meet mom and dad?”

Helena looked at me, astonished. “Really?”

“Oh, and you did?”

“My situation was a bit different.”

“I said you weren’t allowed to use that excuse anymore.”

“Since when do I listen to you?”

Artie smiled at the interchange. “It’s hard to imagine you’ve known each other for so long, when for me, Jacob’s only been gone a month. But after listening to you two it’s not that hard.”