Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
HUDSON
Hudson grabbed a tray of runny eggs with burned toast and scanned the dining hall for a seat. Most tables were already full of guys hunched over trays, looking tired and focused on their food.
“Hale! Over here!” Reed waved from a table near the windows. He reminded Hudson of a golden retriever. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy hair and an easy grin that Hudson knew had gotten him laid… a lot.
Hudson dropped into the seat across from him. Novak was already there—compact, shaved head, built like a boxer. Next to him sat Fernandez, a lean Hispanic guy from SoCal. The more exhausted he got, the heavier the Spanglish—and by the end of most days, Hudson could barely understand him.
“Sleep okay?” Reed asked.
“Define okay,” Hudson muttered.
Fernandez pushed his tray toward the center of the table. “Hell no, Papi. I’m not eating this crap. It tastes like cardboard.”
Novak snorted into his coffee.
“Night duty tonight?” Reed asked Hudson.
“Yeah.”
“Damn. I'd take kitchen duty over night duty any day."
"Bullshit," Novak said. "You bitched about kitchen duty for three days straight just last week."
"I can complain about something and still prefer it to freezing to death."
Hudson loaded his fork, only half-listening. His eyes found Shaw three tables over—eating alone, calm and collected as always. Shaw raised his gaze, scanning the room, and Hudson looked away before their eyes met.
"Shaw ever eat with anyone?" Novak asked, following Hudson's gaze.
Hudson shrugged. "Haven't seen it."
"Guy's muy intenso," Fernandez said.
Hudson’s eyes found Shaw again. He was cutting his food into precise portions that almost made Hudson laugh. He’d be great in the bomb-squad. Someone walked past his table and greeted him, but Shaw didn't even look up.
"Hale." Reed snapped his fingers. "You still with us?"
Hudson returned his attention to him. "What?"
"Who are you paired with for night duty?"
His stomach turned over. "Shaw."
Reed grinned. "Of course you are.”
Night duty was Hudson’s idea of punishment. Boring, cold, and long as hell. Give him drills until his legs gave out, make him run until he puked, whatever. But this? Standing around in the freezing cold with nothing to do except walk the same stretch of fence over and over?
Yeah. That was torture.
And tonight, because the universe apparently had a lame sense of humor, he was stuck doing it with Shaw.
Game face on.
Hudson trudged toward him, smirking. "Guess we're becoming a thing."
Shaw didn't even look at him. Didn't sigh. Didn't do anything at all, which Hudson was starting to recognize as his version of acknowledgement.
Kowalski handed Hudson a flashlight and a radio. “Don’t use it unless you screw up. Walk the perimeter. Check the equipment. Don't fall asleep. Don't fuck around.”
Should be simple enough. His partner was Shaw, after all. Not much fucking around on his watch.
The cold hit the second they stepped outside, piercing and miserable. It had to be well below zero. Hudson's fingers were already turning numb inside his gloves, and they'd only been outside for a few minutes.
The perimeter stretched in front of them—a chain-link fence topped with razor wire, cutting a line through trees that looked like dark cutouts against the sky. It ran maybe eight hundred meters end to end—long enough that the first checkpoint disappeared into darkness between flashlight sweeps.
Hudson shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and fell into step beside Shaw. "Any preferences? East to west or west to east?"
Shaw answered without missing a beat. "East first."
"Aye aye, Captain.”
Six hours of this—six hours of walking the same fence line with nothing but the wind and Shaw's carefully controlled breathing for company. He didn’t exactly mind the quiet. But Shaw was right there and it made absolutely no fucking sense to suffer in silence.
Hudson couldn't take it anymore. "So… You always this fun on night shifts?"
Shaw shot him a brief look. "We're working."
"Ah. So that's a yes." Hudson grinned into the dark.
When they reached the first checkpoint, Shaw pulled out the clipboard and clicked his pen once.
"Lock," he said.
Hudson grabbed the padlock and tested it. "Good."
Shaw made a note, pen moving in neat, controlled strokes. He formed each letter with the same deliberate precision he did everything else—no wasted movement, nothing hurried.
Hudson rolled his eyes.
"Time," Shaw said.
"Twenty-three fifteen."
Shaw wrote it down in straight lines like he was using an invisible ruler.
Sweeping the flashlight along the fence line, Hudson checked for gaps or disturbances in the snow beneath. “Fence is clear.”
Shaw checked something off. Even his checkmarks were regimented. It was kind of impressive, actually. In an annoying way.
Leaning back against the post, Hudson watched him. "You think anyone actually reads these reports?"
"Yes," Shaw said, eyes on the clipboard.
Hudson couldn't help but grin. "Well, good. I'd hate for your impeccable handwriting to go unappreciated."
Shaw let out a faint huff of breath that might've been a laugh if Hudson used his imagination.
Yeah. He was going to file that as a laugh.
When they reached the second checkpoint, Hudson’s mind drifted to something he had overheard earlier in the day, after drills wound down. He had been heading toward the lockers when he caught voices from Kowalski’s office. “...doesn’t surprise me,” Kowalski said. “He was raised for this.”
“For sure,” another voice replied. “Imagine having General Shaw as a father—”
The rest was swallowed by a door closing, but Hudson connected the dots just fine. General Shaw—the most decorated man still wearing a uniform—was Shaw’s dad.
Growing up with a man like that. Damn. He thought about his mom’s kitchen in Brooklyn, the way she’d taped his mediocre eighth-grade art project to the fridge and left it there for two years. Somehow he doubted General Shaw had done the same.
The overheard conversation still bounced around his head as he watched Shaw work.
This was probably a bad idea. Shaw clearly didn't like personal questions.
Or any questions. Or talking in general.
But Hudson had never been great at leaving things alone, and his brain kept circling back to it—so, to hell with it.
"Hey. Can I ask you something?"
"You just did,” Shaw said, studying the clipboard.
Hudson snorted. "Let me rephrase. I heard something earlier. About your... let's say, family ties."
Shaw’s hand stilled mid-sentence, shoulder pulling tight. He finished writing whatever he was writing and clipped the pen back into place. When he looked up, his expression was blank, but Hudson caught the tension in his jaw, thick muscle working under the skin. "What about them?"
"Is General Shaw really your dad?"
There was a new hardness to Shaw’s expression Hudson hadn’t seen before. Maybe he had actually crossed a line this time.
"Yes," Shaw answered.
Hudson had kind of expected him to deny it. Or tell him to mind his own business. Maybe ignore the question entirely like he ignored most things Hudson said. Instead he got a flat confirmation, delivered with the same emotional weight as if he had asked him what time it was.
“Mhm…” Hudson watched him. "Guess that explains a few things."
A muscle in Shaw’s neck corded. "Such as?"
"Why you don't waste energy. Why you move like everything's a test. Why you're so—," he gestured vaguely at all of Shaw, "controlled."
Shaw went quiet. Or quieter, in his case. He’d clearly been gearing up for an entirely different answer.
"Energy is a resource," he said. "It's not meant to be wasted."
Hudson grinned. "Like I said."
Shaw stared at him like he was trying to figure out if Hudson was messing with him or being serious. Hudson held the gaze without pushing, or turning it into a joke.
"Anything else you want to add?" Shaw asked, voice dry.
"Nah, I think I'm good."
"Really?"
"What were you expecting? A follow-up questionnaire? Twenty questions about what it's like growing up with a dad who could probably benchpress a tank?"
Shaw's mouth twitched, but he didn’t answer.
Instead they resumed walking. The snow had compacted under their boots into something almost glassy. The night was silent, just the creak of their gear and the occasional pop of frozen wood somewhere in the tree line.
Hudson flexed his hands, trying to keep the blood moving.
His face had gone numb an hour ago—he couldn't feel his nose anymore, could barely feel his lips when he talked.
The cold had worked its way through every layer, past the jacket, past the thermal underlayer, settling somewhere deep in his core.
Not even a full ten minutes passed before another question bubbled up. "So... did he make you do push-ups every time you talked back, or was it more of a psychological warfare situation?"
Shaw let out a croaked laugh.
Short, gone almost immediately, but this time there was no doubt. Actual audible proof that Shaw was capable of being amused.
"Jesus," he said. "So much for being done."
Hudson beamed. "Did you just laugh?"
"No."
"Oh, you definitely laughed."
“Fuck off.”
They reached the last checkpoint and stopped. Hudson took the clipboard this time, scribbling something that seemed official enough to pass inspection. "You think they're trying to break us with boredom?"
"They're trying to see who cuts corners when no one's watching."
Hudson handed the clipboard back. "Why do I feel like that's a personal insult?"
"It's an observation."
"Sure it is."
They continued on their route, Shaw still impossible to read, but at least he’d talked. Way easier to figure out your competition if they actually opened their mouth. Hudson counted that as another win.
The second circuit went without incident. The third dragged. At some point during the fourth, Shaw stopped abruptly, hand coming up in a signal that made Hudson freeze instantly. Adrenaline pumped through his system before his brain caught up to what was happening.
Shaw remained perfectly still, head tilted, eyes scanning the dark. Hudson didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just waited.
After what felt like minutes but was probably only thirty seconds, Shaw relaxed. His hand dropped. "Animal," he said barely audibly. "Probably."
Hudson exhaled, willing his heart rate back down. "Jesus Christ. You say that like it's reassuring."
There might've been a flicker of amusement in Shaw’s eyes. Hard to tell in the dark. "What? You afraid?"
"No. But I’d rather not fight a bear right now. I'm tired, my joints hurt, and I'm pretty sure I lost a few toes during the last circuit."
Shaw's mouth did that almost-smile thing again.
By the time their shift finally ended, Hudson's body ached. His legs felt like lead. His shoulders screamed from holding tension against the cold. Even his jaw hurt from clenching it to keep his teeth from chattering. One long, low-grade misery.
Shaw checked his watch and nodded once. "That's us."
"Thank fuck," Hudson muttered. “I was starting to think this would never end.”
They walked back toward the barracks together, close enough their shoulders almost touched with each step. Hudson was aware of Shaw beside him in a way he hadn't been at the start of the shift. The silence felt different now. Less awkward at least.
"Same time tomorrow?" Hudson joked as they reached the door.
Shaw took a few more steps. "If we're assigned."
Hudson smiled. "We will be.”