Too Many Bloody Days Later

A/N: This is written from a different point of view, my own in stead of Jim's. I'm jumping a bit back and forth in time here, I hope you think it's ok. I will also reveal why I in the previous chapter made references to corporal Mitchell being jealous at Jim. if you hear what Danny Boyle and Alex Garland had to say about him in the audio commentary on the DVD, you'll understand where I'm going with this.

SUMMARY: An overlook over West and Jim’s rather strange relationship, from an all-seeing, all-knowing POV. Also, a fight breaks out between West and one of his soldiers.

DISCLAIMER: See previous chapter.

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TOO MANY BLOODY DAYS LATER

Chapter 2: "Happy Hour!”


Jim showered less after that day. He didn't want to put himself on a platter like that, and besides, he figured the smell might keep West on a distance.

...Didn't help though, did it? "Jim, you smell like shit," he'd say, AFTER the act of course, when he'd come back down to earth and when Jim was about as vulnerable as you can get. So Jim had a shower and a shave, ready for another go later on, and whenever he refused to, the major took to extreme measures.

Everyday life had worsened greatly for Jim since their fist time. He was not allowed to speak to Selena or Hannah, let alone sit at the dinner table with the others... HE had to eat down in the cellar. Now, this 'special arrangement' was a result of him trying to avoid West. He'd be spending more time with the soldiers, because he thought that the major wouldn't dare to touch him in the company of his men... Sadly, this bore no fruits; West took any opportunity he got to make it perfectly clear to Jim who was in charge. He would find Jim, call upon the young man to follow him, and take him to wherever he thought was a good place for a quickie. All the soldiers saw, all of them knew it (well, maybe not Jones, he was never the brightest candle in the chandelier). Jim often tried looking to Farrell for help, but the sarge couldn't even look upon his tortured face. No one did... They were all just glad it weren't them in his shoes.


Every Saturday night, West arranged something called "Happy Hour" for Jim and himself, where he had Jim dress up in one of the suits that had once belonged to the master of the house. Seeing as how the master was considerably larger than the lithe Jim, he was practically drowning in the clothes. "There. Now you look like a proper gentleman." Not much use to get him all dressed up though, because after they’d eaten, the clothes were off again.
West would also slip a cocktail of pulverized pills in Jim's food just before Happy Hour, so that when they were ready, Jim was relaxed, a little giggly and up for just about anything. This was the way it should be between them, the major thought.

"If we want things to work, Jim, we'll both have to show a little enthusiasm, yeah?" - This was how he usually encouraged Jim when he was being particularly feisty. "It takes two, you know," he'd say, oftentimes combined with some persuading body contact. Whenever he did that, Jim would start to cry, and that was when West came up with the "Happy Hour" concept. He'd take some of Selena's valium, a little Zoloft from Jones and a select few from the bathroom cabinet, and abracadabra! - There you have a perfectly loveable Jim, ready to soothe your every need.

Worked like a charm every bloody Saturday night.


West wasn't really sure what it was about Jim that had caught his eye. He'd never been particularly fond of the male physique, but he'd been struck by Jim's beauty when the three first arrived at the mansion. He'd been without a woman for so long - God knows if his wife was even alive - and there they were: two women and a young man. When he'd heard women were arriving, he was, along with his crew, delighted and relieved. He had never thought he'd be more infatuated with the man at their side, though. He figured it was because he never really cared much for black women, and Hannah was slightly too young for a man of his age... Also, she creeped him out a bit.
But Jim... Jim was perfect. Nothing like the blokes he had to babysit day in, day out. No, Jim was one of a kind. But the major didn't realize that he had such feelings until he saw him in the shower that same day.

It was quite accidental, really, that West had passed by the bathroom while Jim was taking a shower. The door was kind of weird that way, it was never really completely shut, and it would often slide open from itself, leaving a bit of a gap so that anyone could peek in unnoticed. And that was just what the major did, hoping to catch Selena, whom he thought he was most attracted to at the time. In stead he saw the fresh, untainted, pale skin of Jim, cascades of water flowing down his lean figure. The absence of artificial lighting in the room up against the daylight flowing through the windows, made a wonderful play of shadow and light on Jim's bare naked, slender form, and all of the visual sensations were making West's pants tight around the crotch area.

After that, West started following Jim's actions carefully, stalking his every move just in case he'd be taking his clothes off anytime in the nearest future. The major also established a trust between the two of them, and he sensed that Jim reciprocated the loving feelings. One of the soldiers, corporal Mitchell, had used to be very close to the officer in command – before Jim came along, that is - and seemed to be quite bothered by this new friendship… but what did it matter? West was soon going to make his move.

Now it had been over a year, and Jim was lying next to him in bed... A sleeping angel. I could really care for this boy, he thought. Not just because Jim had features one could only dream of being blessed with, but because he was such a gentle spirit, so polite and obedient and submissive. Well, not all of the time, of course, there were times when Jim was being a little shit, and those were the times when West decided to show him the back of his hand. Mostly, he had raised his hand merely in warning, without actually doing any harm to his sweet little angel. But sometimes he'd get carried away, and Jim would get a few bruises here and there. Nothing big.


One night, when West had had a few drinks with Mitchell and was about to retire, the corporal confronted him.

"Going up to your little bitch now, Henry..?"

First of all, West didn't like the way he addressed him: While on duty - even now, when they were both shitfaced - one should never address their superior by any of their names. Second, how dare he bring up this subject?! It was something neither of them spoke of, ever, or at least the major hoped his men never talked of the matter. The thought of them badmouthing him or his loved one - whether he was around to hear it or not - made his entire body ache.

There was a long, drawn pause. The uncomfortable silence filled the room, pressing against the walls. Even the big clock in the corner seemed to have stopped ticking, just for the sake of the awkwardness of it all.


"Sorry, Sir, it had to be said."

The major tried putting on an act of innocence - "I'm sorry, Mitchell, I can't say I know what you're talking about." - failing miserably.

"For fucks sake, West, we all know, ok? So stop pretending to be a manly man cos we all know you're a faget, and that you love that pale slut's arse."

This made his superior red with fury.
"You will not talk to me in this manner, corporal!!"

"Oh come on, you two are so fucking obvious! Tell you what: To save time and energy, why don't you just put him right there on the table and shag his brains out, eh?"

The major went silent.

"It's almost fucking painful to watch, Sir," Mitchell continued. "- Painful." Any idiot could see where the corporal was going with this, but the major was too shitfaced to see it. Also, he was busy defending himself:

"I.. have never laid a HAND on that man!" West stated loudly - he was starting to get frustrated.

"Oh yeah, and I suppose he looks like that because of malnutrition??"

"Looks like WHAT, exactly??"

"Well, like you've been shagging the shite out of the guy since he came here, quite frankly."

West tried to gather himself. "He's lost his family. The world as we knew it is gone, dead. Should his distress be put under a magnifying glass? And blamed on ME?? I've done nothing but helping him and those two girls since they came here, creating a better life for them all!"

"Oh yeah, and what a fucking life it is, Sir. Being groped by smelly, greasy soldiers all day."

West went mute for a second. He'd never seen Mitchell like this, he'd never imagined him having these thoughts. Before he had the chance to storm out, the corporal got up, and as he passed his superior, he said: "Tell your whore I said hi."

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STILL TO BE CONTINUED...