Tight Quarters (Out of Uniform 6)

They kept at it through lunch and into the afternoon, every action analyzed and questioned. Finally, right when Bacon was willing to put money on Bullets and Rooster going after the XO with fists, Bullets seeming particularly willing to blame the new XO for the clusterfuck, the LT stood.

“All right. We don’t know yet how long they’re keeping us here, and whether they’ll want us to go back out—”

“Hell yes.”

“Finish the job.”

“Hooyah.”

The whole room seemed eager for that outcome, but the LT made a “simmer down” hand gesture. “I know we’re all on edge. But we’re not going anywhere until we can regroup. You’re all being granted twenty-four hours liberty. Exercise caution if you leave base, but use the time to recharge. See a movie. Sleep. If you call home, remember to observe usual operational protocols and to not mention the injuries—families are still in the process of being notified.”

The senior chief followed this up with one of his patented “No stupid choices” lectures, but Bacon barely heard him, mind racing. He knew exactly how he wanted to use the time off, felt the pull toward Spencer like a magnetic grappling hook. All the reasons why he shouldn’t churned through his brain, but none were sufficient to rein in his overwhelming impulses. He needed Spencer, needed the escape he could offer, the connection. Needed to feel alive, and somehow, he knew deep in his bones that Spencer could make that happen.

It didn’t matter what the senior chief said. He knew he was about to make a very stupid choice and not regret it one bit.

Chapter Twelve

Spencer didn’t like to think of himself as the type to hide away and lick his wounds—he’d kicked that habit in college, thank you very much. But in turning down the transport flight off the base, he’d definitely been...well, pouting was such an ugly word. But he hadn’t exactly been rational either. All he knew was that he hadn’t been remotely ready to be booted onto a transport flight without so much as a hot meal first after the LT had finished with his rapid-fire questioning about the ordeal.

He’d been particularly insistent about the details when Bacon had shot the three armed men, and Spencer had tried to provide all the information his fuzzy brain could provide. And fuck, he hoped he wasn’t inadvertently throwing Bacon under a bus. Lying would get him nowhere, but he really didn’t want Bacon in trouble when the whole time he’d simply been focused on keeping him safe.

Finally, the LT had finished, and feeling very much discarded, Spencer had taken himself off base, made flight arrangements, and found a hotel with good water pressure near a decent restaurant. He’d eaten red rice and kadon pika—local comfort food that warmed him through and made it easier to sleep an astonishing near twelve hours.

After spending a long time taking notes about the mission—notes he knew well he might never be able to use but felt compelled to compile anyway—he’d spent the rest of the day in reporter mode, exploring the island and asking questions about the base and its operations. Even if his main story was about to be killed—he could see that writing on the wall even before he talked to Naval PR—he could still find something to work with. Coming back from his wandering, he took a hot shower, put pants on and was just about to contemplate a shirt and dinner when a knock sounded at his door.

Because he wasn’t an idiot, Spencer had a pretty damn good idea who was there. He didn’t bother grabbing a shirt, and his blood pressure was already spiking as he looked through the peephole. Yup. Exactly as he’d thought.

“What in the ever loving fuck are you doing here?” he demanded as he swung the door open to reveal Bacon slouched against the doorjamb. He was in fatigues, but he was far cleaner than he’d been last time Spencer had seen him.

“Don’t stress. I’m not AWOL. They gave us liberty.” He looked more rested, but his good humor sounded forced.

“You still shouldn’t be here,” Spencer said even as he moved to let Bacon into the room. He tried to rationalize his actions by adding, “I don’t want a public argument. You’re not staying.”

“We both know I am.” Bacon crowded Spencer into the wall as soon as the door shut. “You said to come find you after you were done being embedded. Promised me some sheet-scorching action.”

“I didn’t mean here. My reputation—”

“Will survive.” Bacon let out a bitter laugh, whatever facade he’d been putting on crumbling until he sounded as gutted as he had on the boat back to base. “Not everyone’s so lucky. Some of my team might be dying.”

“Fuck,” Spencer said softly but Bacon kept right on talking, words tumbling out.

“And it’s weird because I really can’t stand some of the fuckers I work with, but I’ve also known them...what, nine years now? Long damn time. I know their wives. Know their tells at cards. I’ve been to their houses, eaten their food. Been at more weddings than I can count.”