Chapter 24 Picasso
TWENTY-FOUR
PICASSO
The sun slipped below the horizon, streaking the sky with deep purples and blood reds that spread like bruises across the clouds.
A heavy quiet had settled over the camp, smothering the restless buzz that usually hummed through it like electricity.
Tents sagged softly in the cooling evening air, shadows stretching long over the cracked earth.
Picasso leaned over the rough-hewn table set beneath the camouflage netting, the flapping fabric whispering in the gentle breeze. The tent they’d hauled the table out from still smelled of sweat and dust, but out here, the night air was sharp and clean, which was a small relief.
Around the table, worn faces tracked the flicker of a single lantern.
The men from Atlantic and Pacific teams rubbed tired eyes, their beards flecked with dirt and dust. Gabriella’s jaw was tight but relaxed, a faint smile ghosting her lips.
Empty MRE wrappers littered the table, corners softened by countless hands, and two cases of chilled cerveza glistened with condensation, the cold bottles betraying a rare kindness, sent to them from Tex.
For a moment, the air between them was lighter, the weight of days of fear and exhaustion ebbing away into the cool night.
“Alright, listen up,” Picasso said, his voice commanding the circle. “Quick hotwash on the rescue op before we hand the keys over to the new guys tomorrow.”
He went through the tactical beats: entry points, comms discipline, the breach. It was clinical and precise. Then he stopped and looked at Gabriella. She sat on a crate between Reef and Wolf, nursing a bottle of water, her injured ankle propped up.
“Standard protocol says civilians stay behind the wire,” Picasso said, his eyes locking onto hers.
The table went silent. “But standard protocol didn’t account for a kidnapped child.
Gabriella saw the gap in the fence and witnessed Ana being taken.
Knowing there wasn’t time to alert security, she made a quick decision to try and save herself.
“Not only did she protect that child and three others already in the van, but she also kept the children calm, found a way to escape the kidnappers, and saved them all including herself despite another earthquake and her own injuries. That is excellent situational awareness, O’Reilly.”
It was the highest praise he could give in front of his men. No flowery speeches, just a straightforward acknowledgment of competence.
Reef raised his beer. “To the Firecracker,” he grinned, “who apparently knows how to breach a wall better than Dude.”
Laughter rippled through the group. Gabriella flushed, a small smile playing on her lips. “I had good motivation,” she said softly.
“To the Firecracker,” the men echoed, clinking bottles.
As the “meeting” dissolved into a makeshift farewell party, the lines between the teams blurred. Wolf approached Picasso.
“Hey,” Wolf said quietly, “you should talk to Tex about the trackers he gave Caroline. Tex developed them so that if anything happened, he could find her. They’re just earrings she wears, but damn, it’s good peace of mind when I’m out on missions.
Caroline has been through a lot, and the earrings help her relax some, knowing that Tex and I can find her if shit happens again. ”
Picasso nodded thoughtfully as Wolf moved off to talk to Grizzly. Meanwhile, Falcon was showing Mozart how to cheat at cards.
Picasso stepped back into the shadows, leaning against a support pole, watching them. This brotherhood was his life. It was safe. Predictable.
Then Gabriella limped over. She didn’t look at him directly, instead leaning against the pole next to him, shoulder to shoulder, gazing out at the men.
“They’re a good group,” she murmured.
“They’re the best,” Picasso said. He was hyper-aware of the heat radiating from her arm where it brushed his. In the daylight, surrounded by his team, he had to keep his guard up. But the memory of the previous night in her tent hummed in the air between them.
“So,” she said, her voice dropping lower. “Wolf says the relief team arrives at 0800. Then we fly out.”
“That’s the schedule.”
“Back to the real world.” She turned her head slightly, looking up at him. “Do you think we fit in the real world, Picasso? Or just in places like this?”
He looked down at her. He wanted to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from her face, but he kept his hands folded across his chest. “I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “I haven’t tried in a long time.”
“Maybe we should try,” she challenged him gently.
“Maybe.”
A burst of laughter from the table broke the tension.
Reef was reenacting Hurricane’s sudden takedown of Grizzly during a training exercise, exaggerating every move with dramatic flair.
The unexpected display caught even the toughest guys off guard, and the room brightened for a moment amid the weight of the mission.
Picasso cleared his throat, stepping away from the dangerous intimacy of the shadows. “You should get some rest, O’Reilly. Big travel day tomorrow.”
“Always the commander,” she teased, though her eyes were warm.
“Someone has to be.”
Later, as the party wound down and the men drifted off to their cots, Picasso found Wolf sitting alone by the dying embers of a small fire, staring into the coals.
“You good, brother?” Wolf asked without looking up.
Picasso sat on a nearby Jerry can. “Mission accomplished. Casualties zero. I’m good.”
Wolf chuckled darkly. “You know that’s not what I asked. I saw you two tonight. You’re walking a fine line, man.”
“I know.”
“Caroline…” Wolf poked the fire with a stick. “She changed everything for me. Made me slower in the morning maybe. But she made me fight harder to get home at night. Just…don’t shut the door on it because you’re scared of the variables. Some variables are worth the risk.”
Picasso didn’t answer. He looked toward Gabriella’s tent, where a faint light still glowed through the canvas. He thought about the number folded in his pocket, ready to give to her tomorrow.
“We’ll see,” Picasso said, standing up. “We’ll see.”