“That’s a lot of responsibility for a...what were you? Barely twenty?”
“Yeah. But that’s what I signed up for. And after that, I put even more time in on the range. I might not like having to shoot, but I was going to be damn good at it. And I am. I take pride in being one of the best shots on the teams. I wasn’t going to let another teammate fall next to me. So now I’ve been at this a decade, and I can honestly say it’s easier now. I’ve saved enough lives to not doubt myself anymore. And if that makes me callous, so be it.”
“You’re not.” Spencer squeezed his hand. “And has it really been that much of an impact on relationships? I’d think plenty of people fall into the fascinated category—after all, cops and soldiers and marines are all pretty popular.”
Bacon snorted. “People crush on the myth. But when it comes down to it, they don’t want to ask, ‘Honey, how was your day’ and hear, ‘Great. I shot a known terrorist kingpin while he swam in his pool.’ Not that I can usually share that much even, but you get the point. I constantly feel like I need to hold back, and that takes a toll.”
“I’m sorry.” Spencer shifted closer. “You deserve a good partnership in your life, you really do. Someone who will accept all of you. And I’m sorry if I seemed judgmental. However you usually cope and make peace is fine. But if not talking, what do you usually need after a mission?”
Bacon wasn’t sure anyone had ever asked him that and it made his insides wobble.
“I tried getting shitfaced when I was younger. But partying got old fast. Honestly, I’m pretty simple. A punishing workout and long shower if we’re still deployed. I try to call my mom, tell her we’re all back safe. I don’t like being alone, so I’ll hang with the guys, listen to them jaw, know that I did all I could.” Then because that was pretty damn heavy, he changed his tone to joking. “And of course fucking my brains out if we’re Stateside.”
“Ah. Uh.” Spencer let out a shaky laugh. “No shower here. Or treadmill. And I’d offer the other, but...”
“You’ve got ethics,” Bacon finished for him. “It’s cool. You’ve made it clear you’re not interested. You’re off the hook.”
“I never said I wasn’t interested.” Spencer punctuated his words by leaning into him. “Just that timing and circumstances sucked. But if we’d met at a club or something, trust me, it would be a different story.”
Warmth bloomed in Bacon’s gut. Fuck but he wanted Spencer in the worst way. “Yeah?”
“And knowing what you do, that wouldn’t be a deal-breaker for me.” Spencer squeezed his knee. “I’ve never really gone for the military type before, but you’re right, there’s been something between us from the start. I’m not going to deny that I’m attracted to you.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t usually look military when I go out on my own to a club looking to get laid.”
“Oh? Do tell.” Spencer’s voice was lighter than it had been since this whole mess began. “Distract me. Tell me about Bacon-on-the-make? You still let your goth side out?”
Bacon shrugged. “I might still own some eyeliner and all-black clothes. Can’t dye my hair while I’m in the service, and it depends on my mood, but yeah, on rare occasions, that side wants to come out.”
“I find that image strangely appealing.” Spencer’s laugh was a warm rumble that Bacon felt down to his chilled toes. “So it wasn’t just Jamie who liked the androgynous look? You experimented some with that too?”
“I’m not gender queer or nonbinary like Jamie, but I’ve always found androgyny hella hot. Both on others and for myself, not that I get much chance to experiment anymore. Curly might be my best friend, but I’m not showing up at one of his parties with the eyeliner and in black lace or something.”
Spencer let out a pained groan. “I’d say you could wear black lace around me any time, but I don’t want to sound like a dirty old perv. I’m trying to be good here.”
“Maybe I want you to be bad.” Bacon had to admit that bantering like this was a good outlet for his adrenaline and worries. They would get picked up, but how many hours it would take was unknown, and he hated not knowing. And besides, flirting with Spencer was far better than talking about taking down those three tangos.
Spencer was quiet for several long beats. “I’m not going to be embedded forever,” he said softly, almost as if he couldn’t believe he was letting himself speak. “Tell you what, sometime down the road, you get leave, you still want to burn up my sheets, you let me know. I’m not fucking you in this sorry excuse for a rowboat—”
“Kissing?” Bacon couldn’t contain his hopefulness.
“Ha. I don’t trust myself to stop at a kiss.”
Bacon hummed his approval for that notion. He liked knowing that he had Spencer’s control on edge.
“And someone still won’t tell me his name.” Spencer leaned over, teeth grazing Bacon’s neck before he retreated.
“I—” Bacon was about to tell him, about to claim a kiss he knew he shouldn’t take, when he heard the drone of a helicopter. He moved apart from Spencer, readying his gun in case it wasn’t their guys. The sound of the chopper was quickly joined by the noise of a motorboat churning through the ocean toward them. Dawn was almost upon them, and like it or not, they were about to get company.
Chapter Eleven
Spencer felt Bacon retreat back into his warrior persona—body going stiff, no more quasi-cuddling him under the warm-you-up excuse, no more joking, and no more flirting. He was damn good at yanking that mask back into place. He might say he didn’t need anything special after an ordeal like that night, but Spencer wasn’t so sure.
Bacon’s radio must have crackled to life because he was muttering something into his comm set. “No, no injuries.”
Apparently Bacon wasn’t counting his finger or whatever he’d done to his ankle.
To Spencer he said, “The chopper is going on. They’re dealing with injuries on the mission and need to do an emergency extraction. We’re going back with the boat crew for now. They’ll get us on another chopper eventually to get back to base, but they need to prioritize the guys who need medical attention.”
“Are you sure you don’t?”
“A twinge in my ankle hardly counts.” Bacon scoffed even though a short while later, he grunted and grimaced while transferring to the SEAL boat. The boat crew got their craft on board, and then they sped over the waves, the speed jarring after the long time floating aimlessly.
“I’m a medic.” One of the boat crew came over to where they sat. “You need anything, Mr. Bryant? Nausea meds? Fluids?”
“I think I’m good.” Spencer gave Bacon a pointed look until he rolled his eyes.
“Fine. Fine. Think I might need to re-splint my finger.” Bacon thrust out his hand. “And I did something minor to my ankle, but seriously, I’m fine. What do we know about injuries on the island?”
There was a long pause, some sort of unspoken communication going on between Bacon and the medic, before the guy shrugged. “Not sure I’m at liberty to say.”
Spencer took that to mean it was bad, very bad, something confirmed by the terse whispers between the medic and Bacon as he leaned in to splint Bacon’s finger and examine his foot. The medic pushed water on both of them and disinfected the scrapes on Spencer’s hands that he’d forgotten he had. Another boat crew member came up and whispered something in Bacon’s ear, and he went pale.
“Fuck.” He squished his eyes shut and breathed heavily for several moments. Turning to Spencer, he said, “I know you probably won’t get it, but this...being helpless, waiting for news, not being there helping my brothers, guys I’ve known a decade now, is so much worse than anything I did out there. This fucking sucks.”
“Can you tell me anything?” Spencer wanted to touch Bacon, reassure him somehow, but he didn’t dare.
“Bad injuries. No casualties ye
t.” Bacon put a whole world of pain and worry in that yet. “I’ll have to let the LT brief you on what happened—he’ll skin me alive if I reveal too much.”
“Understood.” There was really nothing left to say. He wasn’t the praying type, and offering to keep the injured men in his thoughts felt hollow. Even though he was a reporter through and through, he wasn’t going to pump a clearly distraught Bacon for more info. All he could do was sit there, hope that Bacon knew he wasn’t alone, that his presence was enough to keep Bacon from the loneliness he professed to hate so much.
Eventually they transferred to a larger ship, a carrier of some kind, where they were picked up by a transport plane. Spencer had been through a lot of terrifying things in the past twenty-four hours, but taking off on the carrier was right up there. Took a true leap of faith. They sat on jumpseats, but the second they were airborne, Bacon took off his seatbelt and sprawled on the metal-clad aisle. He looked utterly exhausted—heavy eyes, messy hair, and pale skin. The flight was mainly empty, and the medic who had been with them on the boat brought him some blankets. Spencer tried to sleep himself, but the plane was cold and drafty and his mind a muddled mess.
He felt a tugging by his ankle and peered down to discover that Bacon had put a hand on him. He was ostensibly still asleep, but the fact that he was reaching for him made Spencer’s chest crack open, seldom-used muscles burning from the stretch of a suddenly too-big heart. He scanned the aisle but no one seemed to have noticed, most everyone else asleep. Leaning down, he gave Bacon’s hand a fast squeeze, wished he could give Bacon something more to hold on to.
As they were preparing for landing, Bacon roused himself back into his seat. “Fuck. I hate this. Waiting. And we’re probably not going to have any more news when we land. Depending on the level of shit hitting the fan, LT might not even be on base.”
“Tell me what you need from me. Need me to stick to my room so that you can go try to find out what you can?”
“Yeah.” He nodded sharply.
“I’m probably going to crash anyway. My body’s not used to this many hours awake, not like you guys. You won’t be lying if you say I’m sleeping.”
“Good.”
“But please do wake me up—even if it’s just because you want some company.”
Bacon’s face hardened and Spencer had a feeling Bacon would sooner take a hammer to his injured finger than admit he might need him. Or anyone really. He was such an intriguing mix of contradictions—the lone-wolf sniper who craved people and noise. The consummate warrior and the self-professed emo kid from Kansas. Even knowing it was a terrible idea, Spencer wanted to know all those sides, wanted to see the parts Bacon didn’t usually show the world.
Something had changed out there, the hours on the island and in the boat. Spencer wasn’t so fanciful as to call it bonding, but they’d gone through an...experience together. All he knew was that somewhere out there he’d come to care about Bacon, as in become deeply invested in his well-being, and he wasn’t at all used to feeling like this.
When they landed at the forward base, Bacon walked him silently to the barracks. It wouldn’t have taken much for Spencer to invite him in, give him what comfort he could offer, but Bacon was curt in his goodbye, hanging back, almost like he was worried Spencer might reach for him. “Get some rest.”
“Will do.” Spencer really didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know what else to do other than strip off his dirty clothes, take a tepid shower, and collapse on the bed. He was so exhausted he couldn’t even make himself jot down his notes on the mission, which he needed to do before too much longer. He wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but clearly he had because he was awoken by a knocking at the door.
“Coming.” Although his pulse sped up at the notion that it could be Bacon, Spencer scrambled into a pair of pants because greeting him naked was a little forward even for him. And he was more than grateful for his forethought when he opened the door to find a haggard-looking LT at his door.
His back muscles tensed. He knew what was coming even before the LT spoke. As usual, the man didn’t mince words, and despite what had to be total exhaustion, was as commanding as usual. “I can’t tell you what you happened. But your time with us needs to come to an end, effective immediately. I’ve already spoken to PR.”
And for a rare occasion, Spencer was at a loss for words, his only coherent thought, What about Bacon? But he knew better than to voice it, instead pushing down the sick dread that he might never see the guy again.
* * *
Bacon had been worn out like this before, but it never got easier, pushing through the exhaustion. After dropping Spencer off, he headed to medical, dozing in their spartan excuse for a lobby while waiting for someone, anyone who could give him news. Last the boat crew medic had been able to tell him, two SEALs had bullet wounds, one was in critical condition, with a good chance of not making it. But the medic hadn’t had names to go along with that terrible update, and Bacon was left to bargain with the universe for it to not be Curly. Not that he wanted it to be anyone.
“Bacon.” The senior chief shook his shoulder. When Bacon would have leaped to his feet, he pushed him down gently before taking the seat next to him. “Heard from the flight crew that you might be here.”
“Sir. What happened?”
The senior chief rubbed his eyes. His face was even ruddier than usual. “Still not sure. They seemed to have known we were coming. Feels like it was a trap. They were heavily armed, with about double the amount of tangos we were expecting.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. That’s pretty much it. Big clusterfuck. Donaldson was injured in the initial blast, and it’s not looking good. They’re airlifting him back to Coronado on a medical evac flight where they may be able to do more, but the medics have warned the LT that it’s going to take a miracle.”
“Shit.” There was no love lost between him and Donaldson but still Bacon felt like someone had sliced him open. Dying. One of his guys was dying, and he hadn’t been there to save him, to take the blast for him. “Anyone else hurt?”
“Curly’s on the same flight.” The senior chief looked away. “Took a bullet. He was more stable than Donaldson, though. But we just don’t know yet how serious.”
“Fuck.” Unable to stay seated, Bacon stood and paced, not particularly caring that it wasn’t good form to stand while the senior chief sat. Curly was hurt. Bad. And unlike some of the injury-prone guys on the team, Curly never so much as went down with the flu. He’d worked through kidney stones last year. Even if he pulled through, this was going to be a hell of a blow to the big guy. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was the only word Bacon could really think. He couldn’t stand the idea of his friend in pain. Pain he should have been able to prevent—everyone knew he was a far better shot than Curly.
A strange sort of anger unfurled in his gut, as intense as it was irrational. Damn Spencer for being here. Damn this assignment for keeping him from his team. Damn the LT for not putting him on Team Alpha. Damn his stupid motherfucking finger for refusing to heal properly the first time. Damn the whole fucking world to hell.
“We’ve sent the rest of the men to get a few hours’ shuteye before a team meeting.” The senior chief’s voice was pitched low and reassuring, but Bacon wasn’t soothed. “You’ll need to be there as the LT wants the full debriefing of what happened with you and Bryant out there.”
“Understood.” Bacon scrubbed at his hair. “And Sp—Bryant?”
He figured he knew the answer, but had to ask.
“LT just talked with him. His embedded assignment with us is coming to an end—PR agrees this is too delicate a time to have an outsider around. They’re going to try to find him some new contacts back at Coronado, but no guarantees. This went about as sideways as possible, and no one’s happy about that.”
“So he’s leaving?”
“Yeah, but he opted to ar
range for his own travel on a commercial flight. Wants to return via Hawaii so he can see some relatives or some such thing, but is taking a day or two in a hotel here first.” The senior chief gave a wry smile. “Personally, I think he just wants to avoid a twelve-hour transport flight.”
“Probably.” Bacon wasn’t going to reveal how concerned he was for Spencer, even with the rage he felt. Was he too exhausted to travel? Angry? Did he think Bacon had been the one to ask for his removal? Bacon should be feeling relief at not having to be in charge of him anymore, but instead felt...numb. Empty. Like he was losing something and didn’t even know what.
“Now I want you to sleep. And then eat a big meal before we meet. Those are orders.”
“Understood.” Bacon was careful to keep his grumbles to himself.
“By all accounts, you did good out there.” The senior chief clapped him on the shoulder as he stood. “I know this assignment wasn’t your first choice, but I’m proud of you. Got Bryant out safe, and that’s more than some would have been able to do.”
“Yeah.” Bacon wasn’t feeling particularly proud. As he walked back to the barracks, all he really felt was exhausted—all the anger and worries and loss had burned through him, leaving him an empty shell. His room was too quiet without Curly there, and he wanted to smash something over it, but couldn’t muster the energy for more than falling into bed, sleeping until Rooster came pounding on his door, telling him it was time to eat.
He had enough years eating when he didn’t feel hunger that he managed to choke down his food. Breakfast. Somehow it had been a whole day since the mission, hours lost to transport and worry and sleep. And it felt wrong, being rested when Donaldson might never rest again and Curly sure as hell wasn’t sleeping peacefully either.
At the meeting, he had to go through his part of the mission minute by minute for the LT and Mission Ops brass who had arrived for the debriefing. They had maps and satellite photos, and he had to work hard to figure out exact locations as best he could. The rest of the team were similarly put through their paces, everyone trying to sort out what had gone wrong and why. There was still no word on Donaldson and Curly, and worry permeated the room like a toxic gas, everyone on edge and snappy.
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