Chapter 15 Good Morning Messages #2
"Yeah," she typed back. "Just busy. Tell me about your day."
And he did. A rambling message about PT and how Risk had finally cleared him to start running again. About Bulldog making terrible jokes during team movie night. About the nightmares getting better but still not gone. About how talking to her helped more than the therapy sessions.
Mara read it during a brief lull between reviewing target packages and realized she was smiling.
Realized that despite the chaos of her life, despite the fact that she barely had time to breathe, Logan's messages made everything feel lighter.
Made her remember there was more to life than just the next operation.
The chemistry built slowly. Flirty comments that pushed boundaries without crossing them. Teasing that had an edge to it. Late-night texts when Mara actually had time to engage. When operations were done and the compound was quiet and she could focus on something besides survival.
She found herself waiting for his messages. Smiling when her phone buzzed. Feeling guilty when she couldn't respond right away. When work demanded her full attention and Logan was left waiting for hours.
"I'm sorry I'm not better at this," she texted one night after going dark for a full day during the Miami operation.
"Better at what?"
"Staying in touch. Being present. You're always there and I keep disappearing."
"Mara. You're running operations. Saving people. I'm sitting in a hospital room doing PT and watching bad TV. I have all the time in the world. You don't. I get that."
"Still feels shitty."
"It's not. I'd rather get a message from you at midnight after a long day than nothing at all. I'd rather know you're thinking about me even when you're busy than have you feel guilty for living your life."
She saved that message. Read it when the guilt crept in. When she'd been dark for hours and knew Logan was probably wondering if she was okay.
She knew she was falling for him. Knew it was probably a bad idea.
Knew that whatever this was, it existed in a bubble that couldn't last forever.
Knew that the imbalance in their communication was only going to get worse as operations ramped up.
Knew that Logan deserved someone who could give him more than scattered messages between missions.
But she couldn't make herself stop. Couldn't make herself pull back or put distance between them or do any of the smart, tactical things she'd normally do.
Logan was different. Talking to him felt easy in a way nothing else in her life did.
He got the dark humor that came from doing hard things in bad places.
Understood the weight of making life-or-death decisions.
Could match her wit and push back when she tried to deflect with jokes.
Made her laugh even when she was exhausted.
Made her feel seen in a way that was both terrifying and addictive.
Week three, he sent her a photo of his arm. Free of the cast, signatures still visible but fading. "Bulldog drew a dick on it. I'm twenty years into my career and apparently nothing changes."
Mara saw it six hours later during a break between briefings. Laughed so hard she had to explain herself to Nadia, who'd heard from across the compound. She sent back a photo of the sunrise over the bayou. "This is what I'm looking at. Significantly more peaceful than dick drawings."
His response came immediately. "Significantly more boring too."
"You're ridiculous."
"You like it."
She did. That was the problem. She typed back a quick agreement and then got pulled into another meeting. Didn't check her phone again for four hours. Found three more messages from Logan waiting.
The banter came easily when she had time for it.
One morning he texted her a photo of terrible hospital scrambled eggs with the caption "Living the dream.
" She saw it during her 0600 briefing. Didn't respond until 0930 when she had a break.
Sent back a picture of fresh beignets from the kitchen with "Thoughts and prayers for your breakfast situation. "
He replied with "That's just cruel" followed by three crying emojis.
She read it an hour later between reviewing intel reports. Smiled. Made a mental note to respond properly when she had time. Got pulled into an emergency situation with one of the residents before she could.
By the time she remembered, it was 1800 and she had twelve unread messages from Logan. Most of them just updates. Thoughts. Random observations. The mental stream of someone with nothing but time.
"Sorry," she texted. "Long day."
"All good. You eat yet?"
"Not yet. About to."
"Go eat. Talk later."
And she did. But later turned into 2200 because there was always something. Always another crisis or briefing or problem that needed solving. By the time she finally had time to actually talk, to engage properly instead of sending quick responses between crises, she was exhausted.
But Logan was still there. Still awake. Still wanting to talk.
"Thought you might have crashed," he texted when she finally responded.
"Almost did. But I wanted to talk to you first."
"I'm honored."
"You should be. I'm running on about four hours of sleep."
"Then go to sleep. I'll still be here tomorrow."
"I know. That's the problem."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you're always here. Always waiting. Always patient even when I disappear for hours. And I keep thinking you deserve someone who can actually be present instead of this scattered version of communication."
There was a pause before his next message. Longer than usual.
"Mara. I don't want someone who can be present all the time. I want you. However I can get you. Ten messages a day or one. An hour-long conversation or five minutes between meetings. I'll take whatever you can give and be grateful for it."
She stared at that message until her vision blurred. "You're sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
Another night, late when she couldn't sleep after a particularly rough extraction, she told him about a nightmare. Nothing specific, just the vague shapes of old fears. He was awake. Always awake. Always available in a way that made her feel guilty and grateful in equal measure.
He didn't push for details, didn't try to fix it. Just sent back, "Those don't go away. But they get quieter. You're stronger than the things that tried to break you."
She stared at that message for a long time. "How do you know?"
"Because you're still here. Still fighting. Still helping people. That takes a kind of strength most people don't have."
"You have it too."
"Maybe we both do. Maybe that's why this works."
Mara saved that message. Read it again when she was having a hard day. Let his words remind her that she wasn't alone in understanding what it cost to keep going.
Week four, they graduated from texts to voice messages.
Partly because Mara could record and send while doing other things.
Could give him more of herself without having to stop everything to type.
Logan's voice messages were longer. More detailed.
The ramblings of someone with time to think and process and share.
She'd listen to them while reviewing files. While driving. While lying in bed trying to wind down after operations. His voice became a constant. A comfort. A reminder that someone out there understood her even when she could barely keep up with her own life.
Mara heard his laugh for the first time in a voice message and felt something shift in her chest. Logan's voice was different than she remembered from Mosul.
Lighter. Less rough around the edges. He left her rambling messages about physical therapy and terrible hospital food and how Risk kept threatening to break his other arm if he didn't follow the recovery plan.
"He's serious too," Logan's voice came through one afternoon while she was reviewing the Atlanta extraction plan.
"Yesterday I tried to do one extra set of reps and he literally took the weights away.
Said if I rushed the recovery he'd make sure I had something else to recover from. I'm pretty sure he meant it."
Mara listened to it twice. Sent back a voice message three hours later when she finally had a break. "We have someone like that too. She's in charge of keeping us from doing stupid things that'll get us killed. Sometimes I think her actual job title should be 'professional buzz kill.'"
"Does it work?"
"About sixty percent of the time." She recorded that one while walking to a briefing. Sent it without listening back. Got his response six minutes later.
"Better odds than we have."
She smiled and tucked the phone away. Didn't check it again for five hours. Found eight more messages waiting. Responded to two. Promised herself she'd catch up on the others later. Never quite found the time.
Week five, Logan suggested video calls. "I want to see your face when you tell me about your day. Want to watch you smile when I say something stupid. Want to actually talk to you instead of just reading words on a screen."
Mara hesitated. Video calls required dedicated time. Required her to be fully present instead of multitasking. Required her to carve out space in a schedule that was already too full.
But she wanted it too. Wanted to see him healthy. Wanted to watch his expressions change when they talked. Wanted the intimacy of actual face-to-face conversation even if it was through a screen.
"Okay," she typed. "But it'll have to be late. After everything settles here. Is that okay?"
"I'll stay up as late as you need me to."
Their first video call was at 2300 her time, 0000 his. She was exhausted from a full day of briefings and planning and resident care. He'd been up for twenty hours but refused to sleep until they talked.