There was a diversity of views regarding the War's beginning, sides, fronts, status, and aims. Even what was and was not part of the War was a fiercely contested debate many thought was part of it. Others disagreed. Cass — military topologist that she was — saw the war as everywhere dense in the mathematical sense: the War was always close no matter where you were or how you defined "close."
As usual, Dave was on the other end of their not very large couch. Their silences weren't long either if you didn't count the scrolling hours. It was a good marriage on Cass' frequently and deliberately re-calibrated estimate, both hindered and helped by their being coworkers.
Cass looked at him sideways. Dave wasn't looking at her or maybe was not looking at her: it was hard to say with a semiotician. Their celebratory takeout was cooling while they read the spaces and silences between the news to see, each of them with their own skills and philosophy (and goals?, Cass wondered; Dave and her didn't always agree, not even about which disagreements were serious), the unconscious ripples and echoes of what had been a good day at work. He seemed satisfied. She felt good too.
If not for her training she would have thought this meant they were on the same side.
Dave rearranged himself on the couch to be more comfortable and Cass mirrored him with practiced ease. Eyes still on their phones, it was the small apartment version of retiring to different rooms. It had the topological shape of a truce but wasn't proof of one; nor a truce, she reminded herself unnecessarily, implied the presence of more than one side. Same employer, same values (mostly), same habits (more or less), much of a shared life. Love. Was that enough to circumscribe a side in a war? Yes? No? Did it matter? Could it not? Her thoughts flickered and slithered against each other forming impossible, familiar knots.