Chapter 17 #3
This was different. Hudson felt it. This wasn't about getting off or killing time or scratching an itch. This was Shaw saying something he couldn't figure out how to put into words, and Hudson saying it back.
Shaw pulled back slightly, forehead resting against Hudson's again. His breathing was uneven, his hand warm on Hudson's neck.
"Sixteen hours," Shaw said.
"Don't." Hudson's voice broke on the word. "Don't do the countdown. I—“
He didn’t finish. He didn't know what he'd been about to say.
Probably something stupid that would've made this worse.
His brain tried to find the angle, the strategy, some way to make tomorrow not happen—like if he thought hard enough he could figure out how to keep this, how to not lose whatever this was.
But there was no play here. No way to win.
So he kissed Shaw again, and again.
They kept kissing until their lips were numb. Then they put themselves back together and walked back to the barracks.
When graduation day rolled around Hudson wasn’t ready.
They lined up in formation one last time, and Master Sergeant Chen stood in front of them looking almost proud, which was the closest thing to a compliment any of them were going to get.
"You made it," Chen said. "Some of you barely.” Hudson could’ve sworn his eyes landed on him specifically. “But you made it. Your assignments are final. Your next phase starts today."
He went through the logistics—trucks leaving at 0900, final gear checks, where to report. Hudson heard maybe half of it. His brain was too busy tracking Shaw—two spots to his left, same as always, same place Hudson had clocked him on the very first day of Selection.
"You have ten minutes. Say your goodbyes."
And then chaos erupted.
Everyone broke formation at once: guys shaking hands, clapping shoulders, exchanging numbers and promises to stay in touch that most of them probably wouldn't keep. Hudson saw Reed hugging Novak, saw Briggs doing that aggressive shoulder-slam thing with everyone.
He found Shaw standing off to the side, watching the chaos with that same closed-off expression he always wore when he didn't want people to know his thoughts.
Hudson went to him.
Around them people talked, laughed, some guys already heading toward the trucks. Ten minutes wasn't enough time for this. Ten hours wouldn't have been enough time for this.
"So," Hudson said, then realized he had no idea what came after 'so’. "Guess this is it.”
"Guess so,” Shaw repeated.
Hudson's brain told him to say something real, something that mattered, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. What was he supposed to say? Don't go? Stay in touch? I think I might be in love with you even though that makes no fucking sense?
No. He couldn’t do that. That was never the deal. Besides, Hudson didn't fit into the future The General had mapped out for Shaw—and Shaw wasn't going to choose differently. That much had always been clear, and Hudson wasn’t setting himself up for heartbreak.
"Good luck," Hudson said instead, because apparently he was a coward.
Shaw's jaw worked, and Hudson wondered if he was struggling with the same thing, wanting to speak and not being able to find the words.
Shaw stuck out his hand.
Hudson stared at it for a second, then laughed. "Seriously?"
"What else are we supposed to do?" Shaw asked, something almost desperate in his voice. "Hug?"
Hudson took his hand and Shaw gripped it firmly, professionally. He wanted to laugh at how absurd this was. A fucking handshake. After three months of whatever this was.
“See you around, Hale.”
“Yeah. See you around.”
Shaw let go and walked away. Hudson watched him. Two steps. Three. Four.
“Elliot—” Hudson called.
Shaw stopped, his eyes finding Hudson’s, the conflict in them familiar.
“Be safe.”
Shaw gave him a small smile. “You too, Hudson.”
Then he turned back around and headed straight for the North Carolina trucks without hesitation, shoulders straight and stride even, as if this was easy.
Hudson watched him go. What else was he supposed to do?
His brain screamed at him to move. Say something, do literally anything other than stand here like an idiot, but his feet wouldn’t cooperate and Shaw was getting smaller in the distance and fuck, this was really it.
The best three months Hudson had ever had, with someone who actually kept up with him, without having to pretend to be less competitive or less intense or less himself, and it was ending like this.
Reed appeared at his elbow a minute later. "You good?"
Hudson didn’t look at him. “Nah. I don’t think so.”
Reed stayed beside him for a little while, then he squeezed his shoulder once and walked away without making Hudson talk more about it.
The Washington trucks were loading up when Hudson finally forced himself to move. He grabbed his gear and found his assigned seat. Staring out the window as the truck pulled away, he watched the compound get smaller in the distance.
He'd been left before. He knew how to do this.
The truck rumbled on, carrying Hudson west and Shaw east, and there wasn’t a damn thing either of them could do about it.