14. Chapter Fourteen #2
I sneak a look over at him as the song starts, catching a shy smile before he ducks back down.
My own smile grows at the sight, a little giddiness settling in.
I ride the high of it for a while, through some P!
nk, A-ha, Taylor Swift, Smash Mouth, and - of course - a few strands of licorice with the rest of my energy drink.
Then the phone on my desk, the one we’ve been waiting to go active, vibrates with a text. It’s already plugged into my computer’s tower, so all I have to do is trigger the algorithm, open the text, and wait.
Whitney Houston is halfway through lamenting about her desire to dance with somebody when my program takes over the map on my main monitor, zooming in on a region in Mexico.
It’s a seven-mile radius, but that’s more than enough for me to work with.
If I get started now, I’ll have Mica’s exact location in a matter of hours - long before Travis’s plane would land.
I let the current song play out, not wanting our time together to end. I wanted to make Matt smile again. To play more requests, if he asked for any as the night went on. Maybe even share a bit of my licorice - I have an obscene amount, after all.
Does it make me a bad person for hoping he comes to hide again soon? He has to be upset to want to hide, and I would never want him to feel that way, but this is nice.
This is something I could so easily get used to.
I stop the next song from starting and clear my throat.
“I just got an update that’s pretty important.
I’m going to have to page all the guys to come here to talk about it.
You can stay, if you want to. You are more than welcome to stay.
I won’t even tell them you’re over there, but it’s a pretty small room and they’ll likely see you anyway.
I’ll definitely tell them to leave you alone, though.
They won’t talk to you, I’ll make sure of it, but you can leave if you’d rather. ”
He’s already half-perched on the arm of the couch when I look over at him, his eyebrows furrowed. His front pocket is bulging, so he must have stuffed his notebook back in there. I give him an apologetic smile, noticing the way he's hesitating. Maybe he doesn't want it to be over either?
I want to tell him that I would protect him. To make it clear that, if it came down to it, I would fight these men for him. Though, I'd promise him that I sure as fuck would kick them out of my office before things would even get the chance to escalate like that.
I could even sweeten the deal, mentioning he could request more songs once they leave, maybe even mentioning the licorice. The night is still young. We have the time.
I don't want to pressure him, though. I don't ever want this office to feel like anything other than his safe place to hide. So, I don't say any of that. I just say, “I’ll send them the message in a few minutes. You’ve got time to decide.”
He looks at the hiding spot, then to the door, then at me. He signs, J, and then, Who?
“Are you asking who’s coming?” But no, he only signed the letter J. “Are you asking if Jake is coming?”
He signs, J again, nodding.
“Yeah. Probably. Maison and Travis for sure, but Jake usually-” He’s already resuming his climb over the couch. I don’t bother to finish my sentence. He got the information he needed.
Jake.
But why him? Because he was there the night of Mica’s party? Because of something else? Something not on paper?
Matt pauses at the corner of my desk, pulling me from my thoughts.
He’s holding the water glass he’d brought with him earlier.
It’s nearly empty now. I manage a shaky smile that he doesn’t return.
His eyes are soft, though. And hazel. I had never seen them this close before, but they’re a beautiful brown-tinged hazel.
I’m distracted by the sight when he brings his hand up to his chin to sign, Thank you.
It’s even better than the note that’s safely tucked away in my room.
My smile isn’t shaky anymore as I look him in the eyes and offer up a truth, something I’d never admit to anyone else. “I really needed this tonight. I was relieved when I saw you were in here. So, thank you too.” I bring my hand to my chin. “Thank you.”
He blinks at me like he can’t imagine that being true, but then his lips are curling into a smile as soft as his eyes. I want to wrap that softness around myself. Soak in the gentle warmth of it.
“Come back, okay?” I find myself asking, sucked right in by that smile. “Whenever you want. This was-” exciting, amazing, fucking supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, but those words are probably too intense, right? Yeah. Definitely too intense. “This was really nice.”
His smile widens, becoming full and bright, his eyes lighting up with the same jolt of vibrant happiness.
He fingerspells, N-I-C-E, nodding enthusiastically as he does, followed by him signing, Me too.
I’ve always liked that sign. It reminds me of some surfer bro waggling his pinky and thumb and saying, ‘Cowabunga dude.’ It’s fun to do, so I sign it back, creating a loop of agreement that we both thought tonight was really nice.
Really fucking nice.
He’s still smiling. Practically grinning now.
God, I think I could probably live on that smile.
It makes no sense. It’s just a smile. I’ve seen survivors smile.
I’ve seen them do it on video for decades.
I have an entire corkboard up on my office wall, each photograph showing a smiling survivor that we’ve saved in this operation.
Nolan has smiled at me. Casey and Carter have smiled at me.
Even Bryce has smiled at me, though his still held a tinge of wariness the last time he did.
This isn’t even the first time Matt has smiled at me, and it affected me then, too. It affected me just like this. I don’t know why. I don’t think it matters.
I just hope I never do anything that makes him stop.
Maybe there’s a little too much of those thoughts showing on my face because he suddenly looks down, almost sheepishly, and inches toward the door.
“Goodnight,” I tell him when it’s clear he’s leaving now.
He pauses with his hand on the door to look over his shoulder at me. He’s still smiling, though it's softer again now. He signs, Me too, again, instead of goodnight. I wonder if he knows the sign for it yet. I make a mental note to learn it myself.
I watch him leave the office, then let myself follow his trail on the security feed of the hallway until he’s safely tucked away in his room.
The warmth of his smile lingers. I wish I could bottle it up, save it for later.
I’d put it right in my desk drawer, replace the pills with it.
Whenever the darkness starts to close in on me, I could shake a little of it out, grasp it in my hands, let it soak into my chest.
But I can’t bottle up that warm feeling, and it fades - fast.
It’s long gone by the time I’ve sent Travis and Keaton back out to find Mica.
I try to catch a few hours of sleep while they’re in the air, but it’s riddled with nightmares and cold sweats.
I find myself more exhausted than when I started, trying to warm myself back up in the shower.
I close my eyes and remember Matt’s smile in case there’s any essence of its warmth remaining.
But there isn’t. It’s faded, overlaid by horrific sleeping images of Elliot and Ellis and Matt - of so many others. Too many others.
I try to do what I do best - keeping it all together.
I focus on the others, checking in with Jake to make sure he’s taking care of himself and not just Casey, then with Maison, who reeks of whiskey and is too busy wanting work of his own to drown himself in.
He’s the one I’m most worried about, at least out of the operatives.
He still hasn’t seen the doctor, can barely stand on his feet when I deliver him the physical case files he begged me for, and is spending too much time beating a heavy bag until his knuckles split.
The drinking isn’t helping. Neither is the fact that he’s barely eating.
At least Nolan seems to be on the case. I leave him the room to do so, just keeping an eye on the situation.
What I’m really focused on is Matt.
He’s having a good day, it seems. He’s spending time with his friends, dipping his toes in the pool, taking a walk outside. He arrives at the dining table looking calm. He’s not smiling, but he’s relaxed. It’s good to see.
I try not to watch him eat, but my eyes disobey often enough to catch glimpses of him pushing his spaghetti around and around his plate, or the way he’s barely nibbling on the crust of his garlic bread before always washing it down with gulps of his lemonade.
He doesn’t look upset whenever I let myself look at his face, though. He just isn’t eating.
All through dinner, he isn’t eating.
I watch him as we all head into the kitchen to take care of our dishes after agreeing that the meal was great.
He shifts his body to hide his plate, hurrying to scrape his barely-touched meal into the garbage before any of his friends can see.
I very pointedly look away from him, reminding myself it’s none of my business.
Except… it feels like maybe it should be.
I’ll mind my own business with the others, but not Matt.
If Casey gets Jake, Carter gets Travis, and Nolan gets Maison, Matt gets me.
Bryce can have me too, if he wants, but I’ll take that a little slower considering he’s armed and highly dangerous.
Matt, on the other hand, has a foundation with me now.
We have our nights together, our music, a safe place to hide together.
I just have to figure out how to use that without ruining it.