Edward Crichton - To Crown a Caesar

I shut my eyes to shield myself from the intensity of her inspection.

I’d spent the past five months diligently preparing for what we were about to do, but now I wanted nothing to do with it since all I’d seemed to accomplish was turn my closest friends against me.

I opened my eyes and looked into Helena’s, noticing that she must have known I’d come to some sort of conclusion because her eyes seemed softer than I’d seen them in months.

“Helena…” I started, almost unable to get the name out, “I’m sorry. You know how I can get sometimes, and I took it too far this time. I regret that more than you can know.”

She waited a few seconds before nodding. “I accept your apology, Jacob, but you’re not getting out of this that easy. We’re not actually ‘talking’ right now. We’re simply discussing your inability to communicate. The only thing I want out of you right now is a truce. You stop pushing me away and I’ll stop ignoring you, and maybe you can finally convince me all this is worth it.”

I haven’t underestimated Helena since the moment she nearly knocked me out upon our first meeting, and since the day we began our friendship, even before it blossomed into something more, I always knew just how formidable she really was. That impression had been hammered into my brain over so many years with a hammer worthy only of Thor, but I never realized it quite so much as I did right now.

“Agreed,” I answered finally. “Consider a cease fire in affect.”

“Not yet,” she said, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “I need something from you first. Consider it a gesture of good faith.”

When I saw the smile on her face my heart dropped. “What?”

“How old are you?”

I turned away from her as quickly as could. “No.”

She punched me in the back, yet another of her endless beatings that actually hurt. “Honestly, Jacob, you are ridiculous. We’ve known each other for years and I still only think you’re in your early thirties, but I don’t actually know. You won’t even tell me what month you were born in. You’re acting just like Santino.”

“I don’t like birthdays,” I said truthfully. There were too many sad memories associated with them.

“Just tell me the day. I don’t even need to know the year.” When I didn’t say anything, she continued insistently. “Now!”

I rolled back over and sighed. “Fine. It’s the day Augustus died, and yes, I’m in my thirties,” I said grudgingly, even though I was only thirty two. Although, technically, there was a chance I was still only thirty one, since we left the future in July and arrived in Rome in September, bypassing my birthday month of August completely. I honestly didn’t know. “If you can figure out the date, you’ll know.”

“August nineteenth,” she responded almost immediately.

My eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

She smiled. “You really don’t think I pay attention to your lectures, do you? You’re a surprisingly good teacher. Besides, you always seem in a bad mood that day, and yes, you’re that bad it’s memorable.”

I chuckled. “I guess you aren’t so bad after all. At least you’re learning.”

“Don’t get too excited,” she said. “We still have a lot to talk about.”

While her eyes told me there was still more healing that needed to be done before she went back to truly trusting me again, she offered me a small smile before turning her head to look at the bed again.

“Go to sleep, Jacob,” she whispered.

I watched her pull Galba’s linen sheet to her chin, but before she fell sleep, as I was sure she would do in seconds, she spared one last glance at me. It was a neutral glance, but the gesture alone made me feel a whole lot better. I edged just a bit closer to my companion and fell asleep in minutes.

I woke up eight hours later rested, attentive and happy, even with the legions outside constantly reminding me of their presence. Pulling away from Helena as gently as I could, momentarily forgetting it normally took a thunderstorm to wake her up, I moved to the edge of the bed and stretched my arms and my legs. Satisfied I’d worked out any grogginess I might have felt, I reached into my cargo pocket and pulled out my radio. Turning it on, I pressed the PTT button twice in quick succession, and waited for Santino’s reply.

I started to worry when his return clicks didn’t immediately come but after a noticeable three second delay, he responded in kind. I chuckled. Even though he had only communicated by the click of static, I could still sense his frustration. I placed the radio back in my pocket and pulled out my MRE.

Reading the label, I was relieved to discover that it wasn’t one of the dreaded meat patty variants. Perhaps we were finally rid of the vile creations.

With a small sigh, I opened the package that contained two entrees, an appetizer, a dessert, coffee powder, and juice mixtures. I reached in to pull out an entrée but hesitated just before extracting it.

Each and every time I opened one of the ready to eat meals, I was reminded of the fact that we were quickly running through the last of them. Every time we ate one, we lost just that much more of our old home, and ever after all the time I’d spent here, I was still home sick. I missed my sister immensely, my SEALS and friends as well, but most especially, I missed my TV. Helena thought I was addicted to it, and while she was probably right, I suspected she was just afraid I’d be a lazy boyfriend if we ever got home.

There wasn’t much sense thinking about it. With each passing year, the idea of going home became harder and harder to believe anyway.

I opened one of the cracker packages and applied some jalapeño cheese spread. Taking a bite, I nodded pleasantly. For some reason, MREs had a stigma for tasting horrible, like tissue paper or something. I couldn’t disagree more, suspecting such complainers actually ended up eating the tissue paper itself.

As careful as I was, I noticed Helena shift in her sleep beside me. Always a light sleeper, I could recall many occasions when I had been unable to fall asleep during heavy thunderstorms, our thin tents offering little protection from the bright flashes and loud thunder claps brought on by the storms, while Helena dozed peacefully throughout, never once waking.

She rolled over and looked up at me, her hands beneath her head.

“Morning,” I said happily.

Her expression was groggy, but at least she didn’t seem angry. “Shouldn’t it be late afternoon by now?”

I looked at my watch. “Oh, right.”

She gave me a small smile.

“Hungry?” I asked, holding out the cracker. She took a bite and her eyes opened wide, her palate never meant for spicy foods. She reached for the CamelBak and swallowed some water, which I knew would only make it worse. Finally, she snatched a cracker without any cheese and started munching, the redness in her face slowly residing.

I looked at her knowingly, offering a weak shrug. “Sorry?”

She returned my look with the same anger her eyes normally exuded, but I knew it wasn’t real. At least I hoped it wasn’t.

“It’s too bad I fell in love with you and not Santino,” she said.

I placed a hand against my chest. “Ouch. That one really hurt.”

“Sure it did,” she said, peeking into the MRE bag. “What else do you have to eat in there?”

I looked into the bag that held the individual servings of food. “Rice pilaf and turkey with gravy. Great.”

“Ever wonder who comes up with these combinations?”

“No,” I said, “and frankly I don’t want to. Those sadistic bastards at the MRE packaging plant once loaded an entire crate of the stuff with nothing but cream cheese in each meal. I was eating cream cheese for two weeks. Two weeks!” I repeated angrily. “Cream cheese!”