Chapter 15 #2
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell, the sound bouncing off concrete walls. Elliot didn't look up. He knew the cadence of those footsteps.
Hale sat down beside him on the step, close enough that Elliot could feel his warmth. He kept his head down, focused on the count. In for four, hold for four, out for four. His hands shook in his hair, fingers tangled in the damp strands.
"You okay?" Hale finally asked, his voice low and careful, like he was defusing a bomb about to blow.
Elliot let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Fine."
"Is that why you're sitting in a stairwell at oh-four-hundred looking like crap?" There was no sarcasm in his words, only quiet observation.
Lifting his head, he met Hale’s eyes. In the dim light from the emergency exit sign, Hale watched him patiently.
"Nightmare," Elliot said finally. "It's nothing."
"Doesn't look like nothing. What was it about?"
Elliot ran a hand over his face. How did you explain this to someone who’d never had a father like that?
"My father made me sleep outside during a thunderstorm when I was eight. He saw me crying and decided to toughen me up.”
Hale stilled beside him.
"I kept thinking he'd let me back in, but he never did. Not until morning.” Elliot’s voice was coming out rougher and harder to control. “Six hours. I kept track."
Without a word, Hale reached out and put his hand on Elliot's back, between his shoulder blades. His palm pressed firm against him, warmth seeping through Elliot's T-shirt. He rubbed slow circles, smoothing tension from Elliot's shoulders. His next breath came easier. So did the one after that.
"Your father's a piece of shit."
Elliot let out a small laugh. "Yeah."
Hale's hand kept moving, the rhythm constant and unhurried. "You were a little kid."
Closing his eyes, Elliot let himself absorb that. His pulse settled into something more regular—ninety, maybe eighty-five. The trembling in his hands started to fade.
They sat like that for a while, Hale's hand warm between his shoulder blades. The only sound was their breathing and the distant buzz of the base generators. "So," Hale said eventually, changing the subject. "North Carolina, huh?"
Elliot opened his eyes and glanced at him. "What?"
"Your assignment. Washington’s pretty far from North Carolina.”
"Twenty-eight hundred miles," Elliot answered without missing a beat.
Hale let out a rough laugh. "You already knew that."
He didn't respond. Of course he'd known.
"Two weeks," Hale said. "Then I go west, you go east. That's it."
“Yes. I know.”
"Let's make them count, okay?”
Elliot turned to look at him. Hale’s expression was serious in the dim light.
"Okay," he said, almost a whisper.
Hale squeezed his shoulder before his hand slid away, but he didn't move back. Didn't put distance between them.
Shifting slightly, Elliot closed the small gap until their shoulders touched, seeking Hale's warmth. Hale pressed closer, his arm against Elliot's. Then Hale reached over and took his hand, threading their fingers together.
They sat like that until the sky lightened beyond the small window at the top of the stairwell. The base woke around them; distant voices, truck engines, the first formation calls echoing across the grounds.
Hale's thumb traced a slow circle over Elliot's scarred knuckles. "We should probably get back before someone finds us like this."
"Probably."
"You know," Hale said when neither of them moved to leave, "for a guy who's supposed to be all about tactical planning, you're really bad at executing an exit strategy."
Elliot snorted. "I'm working on it."
"Yeah? How's that going for you?"
"Poorly."
Hale laughed, squeezed his hand, then got up and pulled Elliot with him. There wasn’t much room in the narrow stairwell, and they were close enough that he felt Hale’s breath on his cheek. His hands came up to Elliot’s face, fingers brushing his jaw, and he kissed him—slow and unhurried.
Elliot held onto his wrists and kissed him back.
"Come on," Hale said against his mouth. "Before Kowalski has us running laps."
They headed down the stairs together, checking the hallway before slipping out separately—Hale first, then Elliot thirty seconds later.
"I'm telling you, the guy had the map upside down for like twenty minutes before anyone noticed." Hale, Reed and Elliot were walking back from breakfast in the morning snow. Reed was mid-story about Fernandez getting lost during yesterday's nav exercise.
Hale snorted. "How does someone make it this far and not know how to read a map?"
"He's intel," Reed said. "They don't need maps. They just need to sound smart in briefings."
Hale laughed. “Then he’s screwed.”
Elliot didn't contribute much. His body ached from last night, but his mind ran clearer than it had in days.
"You're quiet this morning, Shaw," Reed said, glancing at him. "Hale kept you up all night with his snoring?"
"I don't snore," Hale said immediately.
"You absolutely snore."
"That's not—" Hale started, but stopped mid-sentence.
Sergeant Barnes was walking toward them, his expression serious.
"Lieutenant Shaw." His voice was curt. "Master Sergeant Chen wants to see you."
Elliot went still. He nodded. “Yes, sir."
Barnes continued on as he walked away. "His office. Now.”
Elliot turned to go, then stopped and looked at Hale. Hale gave him a small nod. Whatever it is, you've got it.
He held his gaze for a second, then headed toward the administrative building.
The walk to Chen's office felt longer than it should have. Elliot's mind ran through possibilities, probabilities, assessments. This could be about rankings. Performance reviews. Assignment confirmations.
It could be about his parents.
Or Hale.
When he reached Chen’s office, he knocked twice.
"Enter."
Master Sergeant Chen sat behind his desk, hands folded in front of him. His expression was flat, but tension showed in the set of his shoulders and the way he didn't quite meet Elliot's eyes.
"At ease, Shaw."
Elliot shifted his stance but stayed rigid. Chen gestured to the metal chair across from him. "Sit."
Elliot sat.
Chen studied him with an almost uncomfortable expression. Finally, he picked up a folder from his desk and opened it.
"Allegations have been made," Chen said slowly, "about you and another soldier. Fraternizing."
Elliot's throat went dry, but he kept his face blank. Said nothing.
Chen wouldn't meet his eyes. That told Elliot everything. This conversation had already been decided before he walked in. His father's name had already done its work, even without his involvement. Chen didn't need him to confess—he needed him to cooperate.
"Is there any truth to these allegations, Lieutenant Shaw?"
Elliot could deny it. Should deny it, probably. Two words—"No, sir"—and this conversation would end differently.
But Elliot said nothing. Not quite a confession, but not denial either.
Chen's jaw tightened. He closed the folder. "Normally, this would mean immediate dismissal. For… both parties involved." The pause made it clear he knew exactly who the other person was. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Chen leaned back in his chair, appearing even more uncomfortable now. "However. Given... certain circumstances, and the fact that you're two weeks from completion, we're willing to overlook this. As long as it stops. Immediately."
Elliot dug his fingers into his thighs.
"I need your word, Lieutenant. This ends now."
Elliot wanted to refuse. To tell Chen to report it and let the consequences play out. Confront his father with the truth of who he was.
He wanted it out in the open.
But Hale would go down with him. Hale, who'd wanted this since he was a kid and had worked for years to get here. Whose dream was aviation, Lewis-McChord, flying.
Elliot couldn't destroy that just to spite his father.
"Yes, sir. You have my word."
Chen nodded once, looking relieved. "Good. Then this stays between us. You're dismissed."
Elliot stood, saluted, and left.
The hallway outside the administrative building was crowded. Too crowded.
Guys who had no business being in that corridor lingered. Word had spread. Elliot getting called into Chen's office was entertainment apparently.
He kept walking.
"Hey, Shaw." Briggs' voice cut through the murmur of conversation. He was leaning against the wall with two other guys, arms crossed, wearing that smug expression Elliot hated. "Everything okay? You look a little tense."
He didn't stop. Didn't acknowledge him.
"What'd Chen want to talk about?" Briggs pushed off the wall, voice louder now. "Or should I say who?"
Elliot's hands flexed at his sides. His shoulders locked, but he kept walking.
"Must be nice," Briggs called after him, "having friends in high places."
Elliot stopped.
He turned slowly, meeting Briggs' eyes.
Briggs was grinning now, enjoying this, the audience. Elliot ground down on his molars so hard it hurt. His hands were fists. Every muscle in his body coiled.
One step forward. That's all it would take. One step and Briggs would say something worse, something explicit, and Elliot would put him on the ground.
And Hale would pay for it.
Elliot forced his hands to unclench and turned back around. He kept walking even though everything in him wanted to stay and fight.
Behind him, Briggs laughed. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
That’s when Elliot heard Hale’s voice, low and dangerous.
“You got something to say, Briggs? Say it to me. I fucking dare you.”