Chapter 29 #2
The water pressure was shit but Hudson relished the warmth anyway, trying to get his brain to cooperate. Another few days and he'd be cleared. Back to flying. Back to Afghanistan. Back to his actual life.
His phone rang in the living room.
"Hudson!" Marcus called. "Your phone!"
"Can you see who it is?" Hudson yelled back.
A pause. "It says Shaw."
Hudson nearly dropped the soap. Shaw never called. In fact, Hudson had barely heard from him since last Christmas. Something was off.
"I'll call him back!"
"You want me to answer it?"
"No… it's fine." Hudson shut off the water and grabbed a towel.
But by the time he got to the living room, dripping water everywhere with the towel barely wrapped around his waist, Marcus was sitting on the couch, Hudson's phone in hand.
"He hung up," Marcus said. "Said he'd text you instead."
Hudson took the phone. "Oh. Okay. Thanks."
"Yeah. No problem."
Hudson checked his messages. Nothing yet.
"I'm gonna get dressed,” he said as he retreated to the bedroom.
Marcus was already back at his laptop.
Hudson pulled on his clothes. His phone was on the bed, messages opened. Still nothing.
He picked it up and texted Shaw.
Hudson: Everything okay?
No dots appeared.
Shaw had called him. Shaw wouldn’t call unless— Unless what? Unless it was an emergency? Unless he was in trouble? Unless—
Hudson: Call me back
He stayed at Marcus’s for another hour, pretending to watch a show, checking his phone every ten seconds like some kind of addict.
Finally, at 1900 hours, he made up an excuse about Taylor wanting him home for dinner and left.
He went straight back to Taylor's place, taking the subway and checking his phone the entire ride. Walked the three blocks checking his phone. Let himself into the apartment checking his phone.
At 2130 hours, his phone finally buzzed.
Shaw: Sorry. Busy day. What's up?
Hudson stared at the message. Four hours. Shaw had left him hanging for four hours and this was his response.
Hudson: You called me
Shaw: Right. Wasn't important. Forgot what I was going to say
Bullshit. Shaw didn’t forget jack shit. He had a memory like a steel trap and if he’d called it was because it mattered.
Hudson: Don't do that
Shaw: Do what?
Hudson: Act like you calling me is normal
There was a long pause. Long enough that Hudson started typing another message, then deleted it, then started again.
Shaw: It's fine. I shouldn't have called
Hudson's jaw tightened. He hit the FaceTime button before he could think better of it, because texting wasn’t going to work. Shaw was going to keep lying and Hudson needed to see his face.
Shaw answered after three rings, face filling the screen. His eyes seemed tired, hair slightly longer than the last time Hudson saw him. His mouth was clamped shut like he was already regretting answering.
"Hale," Shaw said. "What are you doing?"
"What are you doing? You called me, then hung up on Marcus, then ghosted me."
Shaw looked away from the camera. "Who's Marcus?"
"Just a guy."
"Right." Shaw's voice was flat. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
"You didn't interrupt anything. I was in the shower."
"Sure."
Hudson wanted to reach through the screen and shake him. Wanted to tell him to stop being such a fucking coward and just be honest for once. Instead he said, "Elliot. What the hell is going on?"
He was quiet for so long Hudson thought the image had frozen.
"I'm deploying."
Hudson went still. His heart climbed into his throat. “When?"
"Wheels up in eighteen hours."
"Where?"
"Can't say. But it's—" Shaw stopped, jaw working. "It's not exactly a milk run."
Hudson knew what that meant. High-risk. Combat zone. The kind of deployment where you wrote letters to your family just in case.
"How long?"
"Four months minimum. Maybe longer. I'll be dark most of that time."
Hudson sat down. Four months of not knowing if Shaw was alive or dead. Four months of checking the news for reports of casualties and wondering if one of them was him. "Okay."
"Yeah."
Hudson tried to read Shaw’s expression through the screen, but he wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.
"You could've texted me that," Hudson said. "Why'd you call?"
Shaw's throat moved. "I don't know."
"Elliot."
"I should go. I've got—there's a lot to prep."
"Wait—"
"Take care of yourself, Hale." Shaw's voice was rough, almost breaking. "And your—Marcus. Hope that works out for you."
The screen went black before Hudson could respond.
He stared at his phone, trying to catch up. Shaw had called to say goodbye. He had wanted to actually talk to Hudson before deploying somewhere dangerous, somewhere he might not come back from. And then Marcus had answered and Shaw had—
Had gotten hurt. That was it. Shaw was hurt. Which meant he cared.
Hudson was still sitting there connecting the dots when Taylor knocked on his door.
"You okay?" she asked, poking her head in. "I heard you on the phone."
"Yeah. I'm—"
“Fine,” she finished for him. She gave him a look that said she didn't believe that for a second.
She came in and sat next to him on the bed, tucking her legs under her like she used to when they were kids. "Was that Elliot?"
Hudson glanced at her. Big ears for such a little woman. He didn't confirm it, because Taylor already knew and there was no point pretending otherwise.
"What happened?" she asked.
"He's deploying. Somewhere high stakes. Going dark for four months."
"Oh, Huddy." Taylor's voice was patient and so affectionate Hudson’s throat suddenly felt tight. “Did you tell him?”
"It’s not that simple."
"Why not?"
"Because he doesn't—" Hudson stopped. Stared at his hands. "It's not like that."
"You sure about that?"
He wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
“He called you,” Taylor said. “Right before deploying. You really think he’d do that if he didn't care?"
“Maybe he just… I don’t know.” Hudson let out a deep breath.
“Hudson.” Taylor shifted closer. “How long are you going to pretend you don’t love him?”
He closed his eyes. He didn’t even deny it, because what was even the point anymore. “It doesn't matter.”
“Of course it matters.”
“How? What am I supposed to do, Taylor? Text him and say ‘hey, I know you’re about to deploy somewhere you might not come back from, but just so you know, I’ve been in love with you for five years?’ I can’t do that right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because what if he doesn’t feel the same way? Then I’m stuck thinking about it for four months with no way to talk to him. Or what if he does feel the same way but something happens to him and—” Hudson’s voice broke. “I can’t. I can’t tell him and then lose him.”
Taylor seemed to consider her words. “Dad left,” she said. “And yeah, that sucked. But some people stay, Huddy. Some people love you back.” She paused. “You’ll never know unless you try. And if you don’t try, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering.”
She pulled him into a sideways hug. “He called you. He wanted to hear your voice.”
God, Hudson needed that to be true. He needed the five years of stolen moments and careful distance and texts that said nothing to actually add up to something.
But needing it didn't make it true. And even if it was, what the fuck was they supposed to do about it?
Shaw was deploying in less than a day. Hudson was deploying in a week.
They were never in the same place at the same time, never would be, and even if they both survived the next four months there was no guarantee.
“If you want to say something to him,” Taylor said, standing up, “you should probably do it now. Before he goes dark and you spend four months regretting it."
She closed the door behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He sat there completely useless for another ten minutes. Then he picked up his phone and opened his chat with Shaw before he could talk himself out of it.
He typed: I think I’m in love with you
Stared at it for thirty seconds. Deleted it.
Then typed: Don’t die.
Deleted that too.
Typed: Please come back
No. That was too much. Not enough.
He stared at the cursor blinking on the empty screen. His mind circled back to Shaw’s exposed face on Facetime. He thought about five years of almosts and not-quites. About the way Shaw said his name: Hudson.
Hudson: I think I might actually like you
He hit send before he could change his mind.
The message showed as delivered. Then read.
Hudson watched the screen. Waited for the three dots to appear. For Shaw to say something—anything.
One minute turned to five minutes. Turned to ten.
Nothing.
His ribs ached and he didn’t know if it was from the crash or from the way his heart was trying to break through his sternum.
Hudson fell asleep like that, phone in his hand, checking it every time he woke up, which, at some point during the night, was every hour.
The next morning Hudson lay in Taylor’s guest room staring at the ceiling. Outside, Brooklyn was doing its thing: loud traffic, someone’s music blasting from an open window, a dog barking.
He glanced at his phone. Still nothing. He put it back down and stared at the ceiling some more.
Somewhere across the country Shaw was saying his goodbyes.
Hudson was left with nothing but silence.