Tight Quarters

by Annabeth Albert

  Bullets sprinted away as the rest of the team emerged from the jungle-like vegetation. Shiny launched into a rather disjointed tale about a parachute jump that went wrong. Something about almost colliding with their former XO.

  “Probably ’cause Strauss was too busy checking out Lowe’s ass,” Donaldson cracked.

  “Dude. Not cool.” As seemed to be the usual, Bacon was the only one to put the wiseass in his place, although there were plenty of uncomfortable looks being exchanged. Spencer carefully filed both the comment and the response away as the rest of the team came over and attention shifted to Shiny’s injuries and getting situated on the small boats to go back to the Mark V.

  There was a lot of tense discussion about whether they should call for an air evacuation for Shiny, who was adamantly insisting that he was good for the ride back. Eventually, it was decided that he would return in the boat but head right to medical when they were back on the base.

  “Fine. Fine. Just no one overreact and send me to Hawaii or something just to have my head looked at.” Limping as he took his spot in the boat, Shiny glared at everyone around him. “Some ice and a few painkillers and I’ll be good to go.”

  “I bet you will. Tell me more about some scrapes you’ve gotten into.” Spencer kept him talking all the way back to the base, getting a lot of good stories in the process and a better picture of how common injuries were.

  As they disembarked and Shiny was led away by Bullets to go to medical, Spencer asked the LT if they had any sort of concussion protocol and how he handled frequent injuries.

  “Just part of the job,” he said, tone both exasperated and defensive as he blew off Spencer’s questions. “Petty Officer Bacon will show you back to barracks. Been a long day. Get some rest.”

  He found Bacon talking to Curly over by some vehicles parked near the pier, and neither seemed to notice his approach.

  “You have to muzzle Donaldson,” Bacon was saying. “He’ll listen to you. We owe it to Lowe and Strauss.”

  Oh, this was interesting. Spencer stopped short behind a Jeep. Strauss was the former XO that Donaldson had accused of ogling Lowe, who Spencer had heard mentioned some too—a former SEAL explosives expert on the team.

  “No one cares.” Curly shrugged. “The fraternization investigation never went anywhere and no one cares what they’re up to now. Seriously, dude. I doubt your reporter would care either.”

  Huh. Spencer had heard enough the past few days to have already had his suspicions about this, but this was pretty damning.

  “He would jump at it. He’s a good guy, but he’s not going to turn down a story,” Bacon insisted.

  He’s not wrong about that, Spencer admitted to himself. Behind him, the radio guy, Riddles, was coming with the senior chief, so he couldn’t keep hiding here.

  Moving forward like he hadn’t stopped to listen in, Spencer called out, “Bacon? The LT said to come find you.”

  Bacon motioned him over with another harsh stare for Curly. “Let’s get some rest. Man, I am totally bushed.”

  It was dark and still humid as they made their way back to the barracks.

  “So what do you think of your new XO?” Spencer asked Bacon as they walked. “How does he compare to the old one?”

  “He’s all right. Don’t really know him well, but he seems to be doing a good job heading up this mission. I worked with Strauss for a couple of years. You won’t find a better guy.” Bacon’s tone was defiant, and even in the dark, his glare was more than evident.

  “He left to work in the private sector?” Spencer wasn’t quite sure why he was pursuing this line of questioning. He was usually a master at timing, and waiting until Bacon wasn’t on edge would be much more advised. Get him comfortable, sharing stories again, then ask. But Spencer was weirdly off-kilter. Guilt for having listened in warred with curiosity in his gut, making him blunter than usual.

  “Yeah.”

  “Think I might try to talk to him when I’m back Stateside, find out what he thought of being on the teams.” Spencer was deliberately trying to bait Bacon now, judge his reactions.

  “He’s not going to be interested in talking to you.” Bacon was as curt as Spencer had expected.

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “You know, I was just beginning to think you were a decent guy. Not a snake lurking in our grass.” Bacon whirled on him as they entered the barracks building, crowding him into a corner. Part of him welcomed Bacon’s anger, felt he deserved it. “But you’re just like every other reporter, aren’t you? Looking to stir up trouble? Not caring who the fuck you might hurt.”

  “What did a reporter ever do to you?” Spencer demanded. “You’ve assumed the worst of me ever since I got here.”

  “When Jamie died, a reporter from a conservative paper in Denver got wind of the story somehow. Wanted to fucking sensationalize their life. Made them seem...messed up. Druggie. Confused. Cautionary tale. And none of it was true, but you guys will do anything for a story, won’t you?”

  “I won’t. I’ve got ethics.” Spencer stood his ground even as Bacon leaned in, anger rolling off him in harsh waves. “And I’m sorry about Jamie, I really am. But not all reporters are the enemy. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m not here to mess up your life or your friends’ lives. I’m not a monster.”

  “No. You’re a reporter. And if you sense some sort of ‘story,’ some manufactured drama, you’re going to chase it down.”

  “It’s what I do. I write. I investigate. I’m not going to apologize for those things, but I don’t know what I have to do to earn your trust.”

  “When you tell me you’ll drop these questions about Strauss.” Bacon’s mouth was a thin, hard line, and his eyes were dark, lethal bullets in the dim light of the building’s foyer.

  “Tell me that a SEAL lieutenant didn’t break fraternization regulations.” Spencer wasn’t going to back down, no matter how angry Bacon got.

  “He didn’t.” Bacon’s reply was automatic. “Nothing happened that put the team at risk. Nothing. But you go poking into people’s personal business, and some good people are going to be put at risk. And I can’t stand by and let that happen. And I’m sure as hell not going to help you hurt my friends.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Spencer said firmly.

  “Then drop this.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” Spencer admitted, voice every bit as reluctant as he felt.

  “Fuck. You,” Bacon ground out. He was breathing heavily and was much too close.

  “I don’t sleep around on the job.” Spencer could meet Bacon anger for anger.

  “No one’s asking you to.” Venom dripped from Bacon’s words. “And fuck me for thinking you might be anything other than a prick.”

  “I—”

  Right then the door opened, admitting a group of uniformed men, and Bacon swiftly moved away from him.

  This isn’t done, Bacon mouthed before saying in a normal tone, “I’m bushed. Let’s get to our rooms.”

  Spencer followed, honestly not sure what he’d been about to say. An apology? And for what? Could he really promise not to investigate this?

  At the doorway to his room, Bacon all but shoved him in. And he wasn’t surprised when Bacon followed him and shut the door behind them.

  “Have you ever been in love, Spencer?” Bacon’s tone was harsh and low.

  “Yes. I told you. I was married.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” Bacon made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Like, really, truly in love? Unconditionally? Like you’d happily die if it meant they would live, get a better chance to be happy themselves?”

  “I...I’m not sure.” Spencer’s voice was barely audible and his stomach trembled.

  “Well, I have. It consumes you. You’d do anything to protect that love. And if you’d been lucky enou
gh to have it, you’d know it. And I’ve seen it for my friends too. And Strauss? He found it. You really want to threaten that with a court martial? Because that’s what we’re talking here. Not a juicy story. Not embarrassing details. Court martial. Lives ruined. Just because of suspicion. Is that what you really want?”

  “No, of course not. I don’t want to wreck innocent lives. But if people were in danger—”

  “You’re going to have to trust me that they weren’t.” Bacon gave him a hard stare. He was crowding into Spencer again, backing him against the wall.

  “I—” Spencer swallowed hard. He’d never once backed down from a story, especially not on the say-so of an admittedly biased source. But...he also wasn’t in this to destroy lives either. The navy probably would never let him embed again if he broke a fraternization scandal. Fuck. What a mess. Some of his indecision must have shown on his face, because Bacon’s stare turned supernova hot and laser sharp.

  “Save it. I don’t know if I trust you not to lie.”

  “Ouch.” Spencer recoiled, but there was nowhere to go.

  “And you know what I hate most of all?” Bacon’s face was now mere inches away as he leaned in.

  “What?” Spencer’s voice came out a harsh whisper. He wasn’t intimidated by Bacon’s posturing, but something else was happening here, something far more troubling.

  Bacon opened his mouth to reply but a knocking sounded at the door. Curly’s voice echoed through the thin walls. “Bacon? You in there? LT wants to see you before we sleep.”

  “Yeah.” Bacon opened the door immediately, which was probably the smart choice, not giving Curly time to worry that they were adjusting clothing or otherwise up to no good.

  But something sank inside him at the loss of Bacon’s nearness. Fuck. This was suddenly complicated as hell.

  * * *

  “Is something up with you and the reporter?” Curly demanded as they walked to the building where the LT and the rest of the leadership had a situation room for planning their strategy.

  “Nope. We were just talking.” Bacon wasn’t lying—they had been talking. And Curly sure as hell didn’t need to know how close to rage-kissing Spencer he’d been. He’d been more pissed off than he’d been in years, and Spencer was a threat on so many levels, and yet somehow, he’d been turned on. It was fucked up, and the impulse to lean in and kiss the living daylights out of Spencer had been stupid and impulsive, things he tried hard not be anymore, and he needed to make sure it didn’t happen again.

  “Good. We don’t need any of us getting all buddy-buddy with the reporter, right?”

  “Yeah.” Bacon hoped his reluctance didn’t show in his tone. He wasn’t overly friendly now, but there on the bluff, telling him about Jamie, he’d felt something more than animosity. And in a way, that had him madder now. He’d let his guard down, and he wasn’t sure whether Spencer would take advantage or not.

  “I talked to Donaldson. He’s going to try to can it with the wisecracks.” Curly was slightly out of breath—he was probably even more bushed than Bacon felt. It had been a long ass forty-eight hours, and the night was muggy and smelled dank, like a basement full of plants.

  “Try isn’t as good as will.” Bacon frowned. “But thanks. And it’s not just him, you know? On the plane, no one was stopping him.”

  “It wasn’t really offensive,” Curly protested. “Just him running his mouth.”

  “It was to me,” Bacon said with a sigh. He hated that they needed to have this conversation. “I’m probably going to come out as pan to the team soon, and I need to know you’ve got my six, man. You staying silent when people are homophobic—even if it’s just a joke—fucking hurts.”

  “I’m sorry,” Curly said quietly as they reached the building. “I’ll try—will—do better. And you coming out, that’s probably a good thing, yeah? That alone might silence some of it. And who knows whether someone else is also wondering whether or not to come out. Good role model and all that.”

  “Yeah.” Bacon really didn’t want to be a diversity poster-child, but he also wasn’t sure how much longer he could quietly seethe.

  “But you know, timing’s everything. Maybe not till after this mission, after we’re done with the reporter. You don’t need those rumors.” Curly clapped him on the shoulder.

  “This isn’t about Spencer Bryant,” Bacon said firmly. “But you’re right. Waiting makes some sense. I’m not in some huge rush. Just fed up.”

  “I hear you,” Curly said as they reached the closed conference room door. He knocked and the senior chief opened it.

  “Oh good, Bacon. We need to brief you on what to expect tomorrow.” The senior chief ushered him into the room after dismissing Curly. The small, dimly lit room contained a large table covered in maps, with laptops open in front of the senior chief, XO, and LT.

  “You got more for me to do? We’ve got to be shorthanded with Shiny down, right?” He couldn’t contain his eagerness. Now more than ever he was ready to be done with babysitting duty.

  “Shiny’s fine. Concussion check was inclusive, and he says he’ll be good to go.” The LT waved away Bacon’s concern. “We talked about having him assigned to the reporter—”

  “Excellent idea.” Bacon needed more distance from Spencer. Even as much as he wanted to keep an eye on him, he needed to outrun his rogue impulses before he did something stupid like kiss Spencer. Or even worse, talk to him more, share more than he should.

  The LT frowned at Bacon’s interruption, and Bacon’s stomach clenched. He wasn’t going to like what came next. “But you’ve been doing good. He’s comfortable with you. And Shiny’s more...malleable. I trust you not to reveal the wrong thing.”

  Bacon grimaced, not wanting to admit that that might have already happened. “Thank you, sir, but I’m sure—”

  “I didn’t bring you here to argue. We’re all tired and ready to crash for the night. Sometime in the next seventy-two hours, we’re going to get the green light to go, and I want to make sure you understand what we’re doing. We wanted to talk to you without the reporter and his questions.”

  “Fair enough.” Bacon took the seat the LT pointed at and settled in for what turned out to be a step-by-step overview of the mission as currently constructed. They were okay with Spencer knowing that they were looking for a terrorist cell, but the part they were keeping on the down low was that they were looking for signs that this terrorist cell had a biological warfare agent—the higher-ups didn’t want that reported on if possible. Tomorrow they’d be running through a few more mock-ups, waiting for word from the brass that it was go time, and the LT wanted Spencer both out of the way but with a positive experience to report on. Which made sense, even as Bacon chafed at the restrictions.

  “You are going to give me a weapon, right? I can’t be out there with just my Ka-Bar knife or some shit,” he said as they finished up.

  “Yes, you’ll have a weapon,” the senior chief assured him. “The risks of this operation are real, though, and I don’t care how many waivers he signed, your primary objective has to be keeping him safe.”

  “Will do.” On that note, Bacon finally headed to bed. But once he finally got in the narrow bed, his restlessness returned. His usual go-to sleep aid of jerking off was out for a number of reasons. Curly was asleep, but Bacon still wasn’t going to do that with him mere feet away, and also, he didn’t trust himself not to think about Spencer. Once he could excuse, but twice would be a pattern and that he couldn’t do. So instead he tossed and turned all night, only to emerge bleary-eyed in time for breakfast.

  He escorted Spencer down to breakfast with a minimum of talking, and that was his intent for the day—only communicate when absolutely needed and no getting distracted. They took out the Mark V boat again, but this time their Team Bravo plan involved using two small fishing boats to reach the back side of the island while Team Alpha swam to appr
oach from the front, and that group would be using explosives to take out two small structures that had been hastily erected on the training island. At the same time, Team Bravo, minus Bacon and Spencer, would get in position to provide reinforcements and cover as necessary.

  Both the fishing boat and the explosives practice were big clues that they weren’t headed to an uninhabited island on the real mission, and his talk last night with the LT had confirmed that. They’d have the added challenge of avoiding civilian detection, something they trained for, but was still a heightened risk for all of them. On the actual mission, he and Spencer would be trying to get high enough to have a view of what went down, but close enough to rendezvous quickly for extraction. On this practice run, the XO left his comm channel open, so Spencer was riveted listening in, and he didn’t seem to care that Bacon was neither talkative nor particularly friendly. No more sharing secret stories or flashing skin. Keep your focus, Petty Officer.

  It was only on their way back down the bluff that Spencer finally brought up the sleeping lion lying between them. “So I was thinking all night. I’m going to do it.”

  Do it? As in kiss Bacon? His heart started hammering. Fuck. “Here?”

  Spencer frowned. “Do I need a specific location to drop the questions about Strauss? I’m not saying I won’t revisit the issue but—whoa.”

  In his relief, Bacon had missed his next step and slid down the rocks. “Oh crap,” he called, scrambling, trying to stop his fall.

  “Shit. Give me your hand.” Above him, Spencer crouched, ready to haul him up.

  “Not sure that’s a good idea. Don’t want to pull you down too,” he said in clipped tones as he clung to a scrubby outcropping. His injured finger twanged like an angry banjo, a loud whine threatening to escape his throat from the pain. But if he let himself continue to slide, he might bring down half the hillside and end up down in the narrow gully with no easy way out.