Chapter Text
Cairo always felt like a mirage—heat-hazed, gaudy, half-dreaming—but after months of desert raids and too many close calls, even a mirage felt like paradise.
Eoin stepped into the bar first, dust-stiff uniform swapped for something only slightly less disreputable. He scanned the crowd automatically: officers on leave, locals in sharp suits, young British soldiers trying far too hard to look worldly. He smirked.
Behind him, Eve Stirling breezed in like she owned the place, which she half did simply by refusing to acknowledge that she didn’t.
“You look like trouble,” Eoin said, offering her his arm.
“I am trouble,” she replied sweetly, hooking onto him. “David should put that in my dossier.”
“Pretty sure he already has.”
They made for a small table tucked in the corner—a perfect vantage for people-watching. As soon as they settled, a waiter brought a bottle of something that claimed to be gin.
Eve poured generously. “To Cairo, land of sunstroke, rumours, and questionable fashion.”
Eoin clinked his glass to hers. “And to inappropriate friendships.”
Eve grinned. “The best kind.”
They sipped. They exhaled. And slowly the tension of the desert uncoiled from their shoulders.
Across the room, David Stirling and Paddy Mayne stood at the bar, deep in some argument about tactics or motor oil or who the hell knew. David gestured too broadly. Paddy rolled his eyes. The two of them were absolutely, magnificently oblivious.
Eoin watched the line of Paddy’s jaw as he laughed at something the bartender said. His stomach did that familiar, dangerous flip.
Eve followed his gaze. “Your man’s looking well tonight.”
Eoin snorted. “Subtle, Eve.”
“Please, I’m not blind.” She leaned a little closer, speaking carefully—as careful as she ever got. “Not that you two do much hiding.”
“We hide plenty,” Eoin said, which was true. Just…not tonight. “More than you and David.”
Eve scoffed. “Oh, he’s not allowed to date anyone below a brigadier or whatever nonsense. It’s not illegal. Merely ‘unbecoming.’”
“Wish mine was just ‘unbecoming.’” The word illegal sat unspoken between them, but she squeezed his hand once, silently saying she understood as much as she could.
They let the quiet sit for a moment.
Then Eve abruptly straightened, eyes sparkling. “Eoin, look. Two o’clock. Uniforms too clean. Must be fresh from England.”
Eoin glanced. Two young men—barely out of training, cheeks pink from the heat, uniforms pressed within an inch of their lives—stood stiffly near the bar.
“Oh bless,” Eoin murmured. “They still think Cairo is glamorous.”
“They’re adorable,” Eve said.
“Delicious.”
“Eoin!”
“What? I’m allowed to admire.” He raised his glass. “Purely academic interest.”
“Exactly.” Eve lifted her own glass. “No harm in looking.”
A dramatic throat-clearing cut through their conspiratorial delight.
Dudley Clarke materialized beside the table like an exasperated chaperone. “You two,” he whispered furiously, “are meant to be discreet. Dis-creet. Stirling’s reputation is a house of cards and Eoin—well—” He waved his hands helplessly. “You know.”
Eve looked up at him innocently. “We’re just having a drink.”
“And observing the scenery,” Eoin added.
“There is no harm,” Eve insisted.
“In looking,” they said in unison.
Dudley groaned into his hands. “If you’re both arrested for scandalous behavior, I am not writing the paperwork.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eve said, patting his arm. “Now be a dear and get us more gin.”
He left muttering something about lunatics and career suicide.
As soon as he disappeared, Eve and Eoin burst into laughter.
“Do you think David and Paddy have noticed?” Eve asked.
They looked over.
Paddy was explaining something with expansive, dramatic gestures. David nodded along, brow furrowed, utterly engrossed.
“Not in the slightest,” Eoin said.
“They’d miss a grenade going off behind them.”
“They have,” Eoin reminded her.
They clinked glasses again.
“To them,” Eve said fondly.
“To us,” Eoin added.
“To looking,” Eve said with a grin.
“To absolutely not touching,” Eoin replied—then paused. “Unless it’s each other’s drinks.”
“Fair.”
And for one night in Cairo—beneath the hum of the bar, beneath the weight of everything they couldn’t say—they let themselves relax. They laughed. They gossiped. They admired the world, and the world, for once, looked back kindly.
No harm in looking.
Not tonight.