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dark-night-hero · 2 days ago

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「Heartbeat Protocol」 Zayne (ii)

↳ In which eight months later they found each other again. Closer, almost honest. But the end came quietly, without goodbye. And Zayne was left with everything unsaid, and a heart that realized too late it had been waiting. Because sometimes the worst heartbreak isn't when love ends. It's when it never had the chance to begin. (25.6k words)

"You weren't supposed to be anywhere near live ordnance."

Technically, you weren't near it. Not intentionally. Not in a way that broke protocol with malice.

But you were staring at what looked suspiciously like the rusted remains of a mine, nestled half-assed in the dirt, and Leanne was standing beside you with her arms crossed, one eyebrow rising in that slow, disapproving are-you-kidding-me-right-now expression.

"Don't even think about it." She said. You shifted your boot back, hands raised like you'd been caught stealing. "I was just observing." "Observing gets people blown up." "So does walking, apparently." She sighed and crouched beside you, already brushing at the dirt with gloved fingers.

The desert buzzed with heat and insects. Cracked earth stretched in every direction, broken only by the occasional thornbush or half buried pipe. You'd come out here for a simple irrigation line check. Low stakes. No bullets. No shouting. No emotional breakdowns. Just a handful of village elders, some busted water flow, and tea sweet enough to burn cavities into your molars. And then, of course, you found this.

Leanne scraped at the soil, frowning. "Yeah. That’s not a soda can." "I was hoping it was or like, a weird fossil. Some kind of Uruk turtle." "You're not funny." "I'm a delight." She looked up at you. "We should call this in." You hesitated. Her frown deepened. "Don't tell me-" "It's just... If we report it, that’s at least a dozen forms. Three radio relays. The UN gets looped in, then the base, then maybe EOD. Next thing you know, we're back on night shifts."

She stared at you. "You'd rather deal with a land mine than fill out paperwork?" "I'd rather hug a cactus than fill out paperwork." "That's not hyperbole. You did hug a cactus once." "Didn't file a single form, though." "Because you bled on them." You grinned, wide and unapologetic. "Still counts." Leanne exhaled through her nose. "You are exhausting."

You crouched beside her, brushing more dirt away. The casing underneath was ancient, older than you, probably. Corroded. Dusty. Forgotten. Like it had waited years for someone to notice it again. "I think it's defused." You said after a beat. "That is not a reason to poke it." "Technically, I'm not poking. I'm gently interrogating." "Do you ever shut up?" "Only when I'm asleep. And even then, that's up for debate."

She gave you that look. The one that said, if you die, I'm not carrying your corpse back to camp. You winked. So, of course, you disarmed it. Very carefully. Slowly. Not stupid, just... determined. Maybe a little reckless.

By the time you stood up again, detonator pinched between your fingers like a trophy, Leanne looked like she’d aged ten years. "I'm telling HQ." She said flatly. "No need. Crisis averted. Everybody's safe. World saved." "You're unbelievable." "You're welcome."

You got reported anyway. By the time you returned to the outpost, someone had flagged your names, and HQ wanted a word. Urgently.

Now you stood in front of a canvas tent, sweat drying on your back, while a field officer laid into you with the full dad lecture voice.

"You are not certified EOD." The man barked. "You do not engage with legacy mines. You report. You radio. You follow procedure." "Yes sir." You said nodding solemnly. "Understood." Leanne added. She didn't look at you, probably resisting the urge to strangle you in front of a superior. "This is a hostile zone, even if it's quiet. You don't improvise with live threats just because paperwork is inconvenient." You nodded again. "Sir, if I may-" "No." "Right."

When you were finally dismissed, the dry air outside hit you like freedom. You didn't make it five steps before Leanne smacked your arm. "Ow." You muttered, rubbing the spot. "Worth it." "You're lucky that wasn't live." "It was live. Just… lazy. Probably retired." "You're a menace." "I'm a minimalist. I minimized casualties and paperwork."

She made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. You both dropped onto the low wall outside the mess tent, stretching out your legs, boots stained red with dust. The sun was beginning to dip, gold bleeding across the compound and painting shadows behind the tents.

It should've felt like punishment. Instead, it felt like old times. Quiet. Warm. Alive. You passed a bottle of warm water between you, letting the silence rest. "Still think about him?" She asked after a while.

It took a second to realize who she meant.

You shrugged. "Sometimes. Not in a sad way. Just in a 'that happened' kind of way." "Regret it?" "No. I wanted him. That was real." She nodded. "But not anymore." "Not anymore." She looked at you. "That's good."

You nudged her with your shoulder. "What about you? Still not-together with Caleb?" She sighed. "We haven't talked in months." "That doesn't answer the question." "I don't know how to answer it." "Do you still love him?" She went quiet. The kind of quiet that feels heavy. Then, soft as breath. "Yeah."

You didn't say anything. She didn't expect you to. You leaned back against the warm concrete, head tilted toward the sky's deepening blue, and let the quiet fill the cracks between you. You weren't healed. But you weren't bleeding anymore, either.

And for now… that was enough.

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The last eight months weren't dramatic. No shouting matches, no slammed doors, no tragic monologues in the rain. Just silence. Zayne didn't unravel. He simply kept going.

His world compressed into hospital corridors and the sterile hum of machines. Days blurred into one another, marked only by the beep of heart monitors, half drunk coffee, and the endless churn of shift rotations. Time became a loop. Start, stop, chart, repeat. And for a while, that was enough.

He kept busy. Kept his eyes on the next task, his hands steady, his answers clipped. If anyone asked about anything outside the job, he changed the subject. Politely. Casually. Like he hadn't heard the question at all.

Still, every now and then. You slipped in.

A laugh that echoed too brightly from down the hallway. A snort, too similar to yours. Boots laced in that careless way you always wore them. Someone cracking a joke just left of appropriate, with the exact rhythm of your sarcasm. It never lasted long. Just a flicker. A sting.

He hated that he noticed. But he did. Sometimes it was harmless. A passing thought. You teasing him during triage drills. That smug little smirk you'd pull when your bandages were soaked but you insisted you were 'Fine, honestly.' The way your voice dipped into faux sweetness when you were lying through your teeth. And sometimes it wasn't harmless.

Sometimes it stuck. Lodged itself under his ribs and made him sit still in the break room for ten minutes longer than necessary, staring at his hands like they might offer some kind of answer.

That's when he buried it deeper. Let the routine drown it out. Told himself he had been right. Because he had been right. You were never meant to stay.

You lived like there was no next week. Like permanence was a dare you weren’t interested in accepting. And maybe that's what reminded him too much of before.

Not because you were like her. You weren't. MC had been calm, measured, all clean edges and quiet conviction. You, on the other hand, were reckless kindness. Messy, sharp tongued, chaotic in a way that made even your flirting feel like an act of war.

But both of you lived like the future wasn't promised.

And it wasn't that he didn't love that once. He did. But it faded, with MC. Somewhere between missed calls and long silences, the love drained out. It didn't end explosively... It just disappeared. One day, there was nothing left to hold.

He couldn't go through that again.

So when things with you started to feel like something, he shut the door. Quietly. Early. Before it was real enough to cost him. He convinced himself it hadn't been real at all.

He told himself that again the night his parents invited him to dinner and introduced him to a girl. Polished. Soft-spoken. A lawyer's daughter with a symmetrical smile and a stable future. "Someone who'll be there when you come home." His mother had said.

Zayne stared at the woman across the table and felt nothing. Not even discomfort, just emptiness. Like he'd shown up to the wrong audition for someone else's life. So he turned it down. Courteously. Final. His mother sighed. His father didn’t react. They probably thought he was being difficult. They always did.

But the truth was that. He couldn't look at anyone else without hearing your stupid laugh in his head. Without remembering the heat of your palm against his chest, the way you'd leaned in just to say something sarcastic. The way your chaos had felt like clarity.

He hadn't heard your name in months. Didn't know where you are. Didn't ask.

But there were nights in the on call room when the corridors were dark and the city outside felt impossibly far. That's when your memory would sneak in, uninvited. He'd think about that grin, the reckless edge in your voice. Like it didn't mean anything. Like it meant everything.

He told himself he did the right thing.

And then one day, out of nowhere, the Chief of Surgery pulled him aside. "You're going to Uruk." Zayne blinked. "I didn't apply." "You didn’t have to. It's a temporary post. They want field medics, trauma capable. High ranking request."

He almost asked who signed off on it. Almost. Instead, he nodded. Signed what he was handed. Packed the bag that had barely gathered dust.

He didn't know you were there. Didn't know the air would still taste like dust and adrenaline. Didn't know your voice would still echo so easily through the static. He boarded the plane anyway. And he didn't look back.

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The medi-cube was supposed to be pre-assembled.

That's what the contractor claimed, printed in bold, bureaucratic confidence "No Assembly Required." But judging by the pile of metal beams baking in the sun, the tangle of cords coiled like jungle vines, and the four sweating contractors currently arguing over which side was North-facing. Someone had clearly lied.

You stood under the edge of a sun tarp, one boot half in shadow, a lukewarm water bottle tucked against your chest. From a distance, it all looked absurd. Like a low budget military spin off of an IKEA disaster, minus the instructions and with far more swearing. "They think if they stare at it long enough, it'll just assemble itself." You muttered.

Leanne appeared beside you, somehow already looking fed up despite the day being barely an hour old. Her water bottle was nearly empty, and a clipboard was tucked snugly beneath her arm. "Honestly?" She said, squinting at the mess. "I'm rooting for the medi-cube at this point. It's the only one here showing any initiative."

You let out a low breath, part laugh, part sigh. The air shimmered with heat and the scent of sun warmed canvas. Beyond the cube, the gravel base moved with a sleepy rhythm distant chatter over radios, boots crunching past tents, someone humming off key near the laundry station.

Oddly peaceful. Oddly detached. Deployment without urgency.

Leanne held out the clipboard. "The list of volunteer medic just landed." You took it, more out of habit than interest, eyes skimming past names you didn't recognize until one did more than stand out.

Zayne Li.

The world didn't stop. But something inside you did.

Your hand stayed steady, your mouth didn't move, but your pulse tripped. Not in a crashing obvious way, just enough to be annoying. Just enough to feel. Leanne noticed the silence, of course. She always noticed. "That him?" She asked, casually. Too casually. You shrugged, eyes still on the name. "Same spelling. Same initials. Probably still correcting people about hydration ratios."

She raised a brow. "So… Doctor Situationship?" You gave her a look. "We were professionally adjacent. And personally... proximity based." "Wow. Sounds romantic." You rolled your eyes. "It was nothing." "Mhm. The kind of 'nothing' that makes you go quiet for thirty full seconds."

You didn’t answer that. Instead, you looked back out at the medi-cube where someone had just dropped a wrench and was now hopping in place, clutching their foot while yelling something unprintable in three different languages. You laughed, but your mind wasn't laughing.

Leanne tilted her head. "You knew he was coming?" "Nope." "And he knows you’re here?" You hesitated, then. "Also nope." She exhaled through her nose. "Damn." You gave her a sideways glance. "What?" "That’s fate." You snorted. "No, that's bad logistics. Fate would’ve given me at least two weeks warning and a fresh haircut."

But still, his name sat heavy in your hands. Like it had weight again. Like it remembered how it used to belong to something else.

Leanne watched you a beat longer. "You okay?" You didn't look at her. "I moved on." "That's not what I asked." The quiet after that wasn't dramatic. Just enough to sting. You shifted the clipboard against your palm. "At least we're not the ones assembling that mess." "For now." She said.

You paused, then cracked a grin you didn't quite feel. "Sooo..." "No." "You don't even know what I was going to say." "If it involves Caleb, I don't care if you were going to ask for his blood type- I still don't want to hear it." You laughed. "Word around the base says his team might rotate through following weeks. Wouldn't that be-" "Don't." Her voice didn't snap, it just landed flat. Still.

She didn't look at you when she said it. Just past you. At nothing. "I don't want to hear about him." She said again, softer now. "Not here. Not now." You stopped. The joke died in your throat. "...Yeah. Fair." She nodded once, tight. Then she turned and walked off like it didn't cost her anything to do so.

You didn't follow her. Just stood there, thumb rubbing the edge of the clipboard where the paper bent slightly. Still warm from the sun. Still heavy with the name.

Zayne Li.

You hadn't really thought of him in months. Not fully. Not past the occasional memory of him correcting your triage notes or glaring at the sugary sludge you dared to call coffee. You hadn't felt anything for him in a while. Or maybe you'd just gotten really good at telling yourself that.

But now? Now his name was somewhere in this base, breathing the same air. And that changed things.

Not in a big, dramatic way. Just enough to make your chest feel a little tight. Just enough to feel the possibility of something old waking up.

You didn't want that. Didn't ask for it. But apparently, fate didn't care what you were ready for.

You stared at the clipboard for another beat, then looked back up at the medi-cube, where someone had now installed a sink sideways and was trying to convince everyone that it was intentional. You laughed. For real, this time.

Then tilted your head back toward the sun, eyes closed, and muttered under your breath. "Please don't be stupid, Dr. Li."

And because your paperwork avoidance game was legendary, you tucked the clipboard under your arm and marched over to yell at the volunteers about sink orientation, medical hygiene, and the future consequences of design crimes.

It was easier than thinking. Easier than remembering. And definitely easier than wondering what you'd say if you saw him again.

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The heat didn't wait.

It hit the moment Zayne stepped off the plane. Dry, breathless, and constant. Not the kind of heat that knocked you out but the kind that wore you down in layers. Quiet, punishing persistence. The sun pressed against the back of his neck like it had something to prove.

His shirt was already sticking to his spine. His sleeves were rolled halfway up, clipboard tucked under one arm, shoulder bag heavy from the flight. The medical rotation team behind him scattered loosely across the tarmac, dazed and blinking in the glare. Some were already shedding outer layers, others muttering about the pickup team being late.

"Is this normal?" One of the nurses asked, shielding her eyes. Zayne didn't answer right away. He checked his watch, looked up the runway, then back down at the cracked screen. "If this is the break they promised, I'd like a refund." A few tired chuckles. Mostly silence.

Then came the low growl of engines. Not urgent, not fast, just inevitable. Three vehicles rolled into view across the tarmac, tan and dull, sand-scuffed and sun-aged. A personnel truck in front, another behind, a supply unit in between. No markings beyond the military standard. No wasted polish.

The lead truck hissed to a stop. The driver seat door opened. And you stepped out.

Boots first, kicking up a quiet scatter of dust. You moved like someone who'd long stopped noticing the heat like it had tried to challenge you and lost. Clipboard in hand, sunglasses low on your nose, you circled the truck like you belonged to the land itself.

Zayne blinked, once. He didn't remember you in uniform.

He didn't remember you like this. And maybe that’s what hit hardest, not the heat, but the version of you the desert had carved into something cleaner, sharper.

You scanned the group with a practiced sweep of your eyes. When you reached him, there was a half second, barely that, where your gaze caught. No flicker of surprise. No hitch in your voice. You didn't give anything away. You didn't give him anything at all.

"Volunteer med rotation for Uruk Base 3?" You called out. Hands went up. Nods followed. You didn't wait long. "Welcome to the furnace. If you didn't hydrate like your onboarding officer begged you to, start regretting it now." A few weak laughs. Not from him.

You started down the list, procedures, tags, bag placement, no cell reception, standard orientation. Efficient. Measured. Your tone was clipped, but not unfriendly. Professional in a way that made it clear this wasn't your first time doing this, or your tenth. Zayne stayed quiet. The clipboard didn't waver in your grip. Not once. You finished the checklist, gave the nod, and turned back to the truck.

Zayne didn't move right away. He hadn't expected anything. Told himself that from the moment he signed the papers. But still, he hadn't expected nothing. Not the kind of nothing that slid past him like he wasn't even there.

He followed in silence, joining the line toward the truck. The air buzzed with engine hum and heat haze. Your voice was already half drowned out as you gave final instructions to the next wave behind them.

He climbed in, sat down hard on the metal bench, and let the door clang shut. The truck rocked slightly with each new passenger. Outside, your voice continued, even and clear. You hadn't looked back. You look different now.

Not unrecognizable, just farther away. A version of you he'd never met. Like the gap between who you'd been and who you'd become had solidified into something you didn't intend to bridge.

The truck jolted as the convoy began to move, tires grinding over sand and gravel. Zayne kept his eyes on the window. The sweat had dried somewhere between the heat and the realization. He wasn't tired anymore. Just… waiting.

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The heat was already unbearable and you hadn't even started the engine.

You were late. Not disastrously, just enough to annoy Leanne into a slow simmer in the passenger seat while you slammed the last crate of med kits into the back of the truck.

"For someone who's been deployed three times, you pack like it’s your first rodeo." She muttered checking her watch for the third time. "You know they've probably been standing on the tarmac twenty minutes by now." "Then they've had time to reflect." You replied, slamming the door shut. "Great chance to build character." Leanne gave you a look. "You're drinking Coke for breakfast." "Peak readiness." Her sigh could've registered on the Richter scale.

You climbed into the driver's seat and fired up the engine like you hadn't just cut it close enough to be written up. But it was Uruk. Nobody really cared how punctual you were, just that you got the job done and didn't pass out from heatstroke.

By the time the airport runway came into view, the air was already shimmering, thick with heat and the faint scent of exhaust. The medical team was easy to spot. Half wilted figures clustered in the shade of the customs outpost, blinking like they hadn't quite believed the sun here could actually hurt.

Leanne squinted through the windshield. "Be nice." "I am always nice." You said, cutting the engine. "Right. That's why HQ calls you soothing". You hopped down from the cab before she could finish. Dust kicked up at your boots. Sunglasses on, cap pulled low, clipboard in hand. You didn't look back. The sun pressed against the back of your neck like it had something personal against you. "Do not say anything smug." Leanne warned under her breath as she followed. You glanced at her. "I would never."

And then your eyes found him. Zayne Li. He hadn't seen you yet, too busy blinking against the glare, shirt sticking to his back like the desert had claimed him on contact. Hair damp, sleeves rolled up like that would help. You hadn't seen him in months.

But you didn’t flinch. Didn't pause. Didn't let the sting beneath your ribs rise any higher than your throat. Instead, you lifted your voice over the hum of engines. "Volunteer medical rotation for Uruk Base 3?" A few tired nods. Some half raised hands. Someone muttered something desperate about air conditioning.

That's when Zayne's eyes met yours. And still, nothing. No blink, no hesitation, no crack in your tone. You let your gaze slide over him like he was just another unfamiliar name on your clipboard. "Welcome to the furnace." You said, flipping a page. "If you didn't hydrate like your onboarding officer begged you to, now's the time to regret it." A couple of them chuckled. Not him.

"Transport's behind me. Leave personal bags on the far truck, we'll tag and scan them in transit. ID tags stay visible. Med kits stay on you. We’ll stop once on the way to the base for supply pickup. Questions?" Someone in the back asked about signal. You didn't bother hiding your laugh. "Absolutely not." You turned, already walking. Let them catch up.

Leanne reached you in a few quick strides, voice low. "You good?" You didn't look at her. "Why wouldn't I be?" "Because you just acted like Zayne Li doesn't exist." You shrugged. "He doesn't." She snorted. "You're so full of shit." "I'm just focused on efficiency." "You're a child." You opened the passenger door. "A very professional child."

The truck rattled as you hit the road, the med team settling into their seats in the back, still dazed. The desert stretched out in every direction like an unfinished painting, all beige and silence.

You didn't check the mirror. Didn't need to. You could feel him. Third bench in. Too quiet. Probably regretting whatever decision brought him here.

Leanne leaned closer, voice a murmur. "You didn't even say hi." "Nope." "You planning to?" "Not unless the convoy flips and I need to perform emergency triage." She gave you a long look. "You're calm. That's weird." "I'm thriving." "You're humming."

You were. Something from a playlist you hadn’t touched since everything went sideways. Some song that used to feel like a joke between you and you turned the volume up. The silence filled in anyway.

Because yeah, you'd seen him. And yeah, maybe it hit you sideways. The sight of him, older, sun-flushed, exhausted, like something you remembered wrong and too clearly at the same time. Like someone you once almost had and never got the chance to keep.

But that wasn't your problem anymore. You had a job to do. And letting the past think it still had a seat in your truck? That wasn't in the protocol.

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The day had dragged like a bad hangover. Hot, chaotic, and never quite over.

After dropping the medical team off, letting the rest of the troops help them settle in. You'd spent hours dealing with incoming supply, arguing with a printer that only spoke in static, and coaxing a mouse out of the comms room with half a granola bar. By the time you stumbled back into the rec hall, your legs felt like dust and your spine like a dry stick of gum.

You were halfway debating if you should lay down on the floor or to eat when Reyes skidded into the doorway, wild eyed and wheezing like he'd just outrun something smarter than him. "Uh. Problem." You didn't even look up. "If it's scorpions again, they win. Let them have the base."

"No, it's-" He swallowed. "It's one of the new med guys. He, uh. Wandered into Sector Four." You blinked. "Sector Four? As in, 'Live generators and bright red warnings' Sector Four?" Reyes gave a weak nod. "Some of the kids found him. Thought he'd wanna see something cool." You were already on your feet. "Of course they did." He hesitated. "I think it's... Your doctor." That earned him a look. He raised both hands. "Right. Not my business."

You heard the kids before you saw them. Excited voices in sing song Arabic, the kind of gleeful chaos only ten year olds could summon. You rounded the corner just in time to see four of them huddled around a cracked supply crate, waving a takeout container like it held state secrets.

And there he was. Zayne Li. Crouched in the dust, sleeves rolled up, watching the kids with that unreadable look of quiet investment. He barely flinched when one of them shoved the container into his face. "What am I looking at?" He asked, brow furrowed. "It's dead." A kid declared in Arabic. "But it's still scary, right?" Zayne nodded slowly. "Very."

You stepped into view, arms crossed. "Field trip's over, doc." He looked up, too fast. His eyes found yours and stayed there a second longer than necessary. You smiled. Not the warm kind. Just polite, professional, steady. "Either you've got zero sense of direction, or you've already been bribed with snack packs and unearned trust."

One of the kids lit up. "We showed him the spider!" You crouched beside them, tone easy. "Did it hiss at him?" "It's dead." "Doesn't mean it’s not plotting something." You said, squinting at the container. "Eight legs. Mildly cursed. Solid horror potential." The kids laughed, but you were already herding them back with gentle nudges and mock scoldings. "Go. Now. If this man dies in a generator fire, I get paperwork."

When they were gone, you stood. Zayne had already straightened too. "You just let them adopt you?" You asked. "I didn't realize I was in a restricted area." "You followed four ten year olds through two locked gates and a literal 'Do Not Enter Unless You Enjoy Electrocution' sign?" "They said it was fine." You stared. "You believed them?" "They're kids." "Oh. So you're not reckless. Just gullible."

He gave you a look, sharp and tired at the edges. "They didn't mention the generators." You tilted your head. "Is this how you planned to get kicked off the deployment? Speedrun it?" "I got distracted." You raised an eyebrow. "You? Distracted? Can't imagine by what." The words hung too long between you. Something flickered behind his eyes. You stepped back half a pace.

"I'm not mad." You said, lighter now. "Just letting you know I give great tours. Fewer fire hazards." "I didn't come here to play games." "Neither did I." You said quietly. "Some of us actually live here." He didn't look away. "You always do this." "Do what?" "Pretend none of it touches you. Like this whole place is just set dressing for another punchline."

Your voice stayed soft. "And you always do this. Get mad when someone doesn't react the way you want." His hands twitched, jaw tight. "You think I wanted to run into you?" "I think you didn't think at all." He was silent for a second. Then. "I thought maybe you'd changed." You almost laughed. "I have." "Doesn't look like it." "No?" You asked even though it already stung. He hesitated. "I thought maybe you'd grown up."

There it was. The cut. He turned before you could speak again, footsteps crunching over gravel, back straight like he was holding something in. You didn't follow. Didn't call out.

You just stood there arms loose at your sides, wind tugging your sleeves as his figure slipped out of sight. Eventually, you crouched again, elbows on your knees, and stared at the scuffed patch of dirt where he'd been.

He was wrong. You had grown up. You'd just never stopped wanting him to say he missed you too. And somehow, even after everything, that still hurt more than the rest.

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The desert never really cooled. It just stopped trying to kill you for a few hours. The air stayed dry, the dust still clung to your boots, but at least it didn't shred your throat every time you breathed.

Smoke from the grill curled through the base courtyard, softening the edges of the harsh floodlights. Music played from a battered old speaker that someone had probably resurrected with duct tape and stubbornness. Soldiers in fatigues mingled with the new arrivals doctors and nurses, some with sunburn already setting in.

You leaned against a folding table and sipped a can of soda that tasted vaguely like battery acid. Reyes was desecrating a meat nearby, chewing with determination. Snoppy was deep in conversation with one of the new nurses, his expression the kind of focused usually reserved for disarming explosives. Leanne stood beside you, biting through a line of grilled meat like they owed her money.

You caught sight of Zayne across the lot. He stood with his arms crossed, posture too tight to be comfortable. From a distance, it might've passed for calm. Up close, it read like tension with nowhere to go. His jaw was locked, expression unreadable. "You pissed him off." Leanne said without looking up from her plate.

You didn't move. "That could describe a lot of people." "Zayne. Doctor Li. Tall, tired, looks like he hasn't slept since the plane landed." "He's always like that." "No. He's always quiet. That's different." You took another sip and watched the way he stared past the firelight. "Maybe I went a little hard." "You weaponized a tarantula cult. Don't play innocent." "I wasn't playing." You cracked a grin. "It was enrichment."

Leanne shook her head, but a smirk tugged at her mouth. "And now he's brooding through a barbecue like someone canceled his Netflix subscription." You didn't argue. Across the courtyard, Zayne still hadn't moved. Not toward the grill, not toward the people. Just standing there, like he didn't know what to do with himself.

Piccolo jogged over, a box in his hands. "Parcel drop!" Leanne raised an eyebrow. "I didn't order anything." "It's from your colonel." Piccolo said in a singsong voice. That made you look up. "Wait- Caleb?" Leanne's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. A flicker, then nothing. You reached for the tape. "Open it. If it's chocolate I'm calling dibs."

She stepped aside and let you dig through it like a determined raccoon. Inside was a collection of small, oddly specific gifts. A red bandana, which Reyes tied around his head and saluted no one. A tiny foot massager, which made Piccolo go suspiciously quiet. Laminated comic strips, which Snoppy immediately hid under his vest. You searched the box again. Nothing for you.

"Unbelievable." You muttered. "I'm the emotional backbone of this entire unit." Leanne unfolded a note at the bottom. Her fingers brushed over the handwriting before she read aloud. "P.S. Your gift's on the way." You stared into the box like it might yield a second surprise. "That’s it?" She nodded. "That's it."

You leaned back. "Where's the emotionally complicated personal letter? Also, I gave him my last cup noodle. That meant something." "You're not dating him." Piccolo said, already walking away. "I wasn't aware anyone was." You muttered.

Leanne said nothing. Her hand stayed on the letter, her expression unreadable. You turned to her. "He's serious, isn't he?" She didn't answer right away. Then, finally, she said. "He's always serious. Doesn't mean it changes anything."

There was weight in those words. More than you wanted to ask about. So you didn't. You just stood there beside her, letting the silence settle in.

Across the courtyard, Zayne still hadn't looked your way. The music played on. Smoke drifted above the lights, softening the hard edges of everything.

And somewhere out there, between this place and everything that came before, a gift was still on its way. Whatever that meant.

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It was too hot to think. The kind of heat that pressed into your skull and made decisions feel like bad ideas. But somehow, that felt like the perfect weather for making emotionally uncomfortable choices.

The medi-cube tucked behind the admin blocks, where the sand packed a little firmer and the air always smelled like alcohol wipes, rubber bins and regret. Inside, it was cooler enough for the scent of sweat to start collecting beneath the sterile sharpness of antiseptic.

Zayne was there, as expected. Alone. One sleeve was rolled down, the other shoved up to his elbow. Clipboard in hand, he was squinting at a crate of wound dressings like it had just insulted his degree.

You stood in the entrance too long. Long enough to be noticed. His eyes flicked up, then back down again, fast. No greeting. Fair. You cleared your throat and stepped inside. "Hey." He didn't answer. You moved closer anyway. Slowly. Like maybe you weren't sure if you were interrupting. You were.

"I didn't mean to make yesterday weird." You offered. Nothing. You tried again. "I came to check the donations. Someone said we might've gotten a batch of fake Celox dressings. Turns out that's real. Not just a code phrase for being led into a restricted zone by kids and accidentally founding a spider cult." Still nothing.

You sighed, the humor draining out of your voice. "I'm serious, Zayne. I'm sorry. For yesterday. For the joke. For whatever part of me thought that was okay." His pen paused, hovering just above the clipboard. Motionless. You kept going before you lost your nerve. "I was being me. The me that thought the old rhythm still meant something. I forgot it doesn't- not anymore. And you didn't deserve to be the punchline."

He didn't look up immediately. When he did, it was slow, deliberate. As if dragging his gaze to yours cost him something. "You think that's what I was mad about?" He asked, voice low. You blinked. "Wasn't it?"

He set the clipboard down carefully. Too carefully, like he was one breath from hurling it across the tent. "I don't care that you made a joke." He said. "I care that you did it like nothing changed. Like we're still those same people." You opened your mouth. Closed it. "We're not?"

He gave you a look. Tired, but not unkind. "You're still funny. Still reckless. Still... you." "But?" "But I didn't know seeing you would feel like that." You stilled. He raked a hand through his hair, his voice quieter now. "I came here to work. Not to unravel."

The silence that followed didn’t bite. It just hung there. Dry, quiet, full of all the things you'd both thought about saying and never did. You shifted your weight. "You didn't unravel." He looked at you. "Didn’t I?"

And maybe he had. He looked older somehow. Not in years. Just worn thin in a way that wasn’t about distance or time zones. Fatigue that ran deeper than deployment.

You stepped forward, tone gentler. "You really didn't expect to see me?" "No, but even if I did. I just thought I'd handle it better." You let out a small huff. "You didn't." That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. You raised a hand in faint surrender. "But neither did I."

He exhaled, the breath easing out of him. "You said you're sorry. I believe you." You nodded. "Cool." "And I shouldn't have said that." "It's alright, one hundred percent reasonable." He hesitated. "But also..." You tilted your head. "It's good to see you." Something shifted in your chest, quietly. You nodded. "Yeah. You too." He didn't smile. But he didn't look away either.

You took a step back, the moment loosening its grip. "So... you want help with the inventory? Or should I go find another restricted zone to escorted out of?" "Just don't touch the hemostats."

You gave a lazy salute and moved toward the bins, letting your hands stay busy so your brain wouldn't wander where it always wanted to.

For the next fifteen minutes, you worked side by side. Not close. Not fixed. But present. Not running. It wasn't resolution. But it was something. And for now, that felt real enough.

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The scent of old wood polish lingered in the room, faint beneath the hum of the air conditioning. Outside the window, the sun dipped lower, shadows lengthening across the floor like a slow march. On the desk, pristine, centered, sat a single deployment file.

Caleb stood at ease, hands clasped behind his back. Still. Clean cut. Every inch the officer he'd been raised to be. General Xia didn't look up right away. He was reading the document, pen tapping lightly against the armrest of his chair.

"This isn't a diplomatic deployment." The general said eventually. His voice was quiet but flat, like a man stating facts, not feelings. "Uruk is still classified as unstable. It’s not a vacation." "I'm aware." "You'll be embedded with an active base. You'll be overseeing joint operations with UN medical partners. Local logistics. Regional stabilization efforts. Full officer responsibility." "Yes sir."

The General finally looked up. His gaze was sharp, weathered by years of command. "Why are you doing this?" Caleb didn't shift. "It felt right." "That's not an answer." He took a breath, shallow but steady. "It makes me happy." A silence stretched between them. Caleb continued, calm as ever. "Knowing I'll be in the same place as her. Even if we don't speak. Even if she never looks at me again. I just... I want to be near her. I don't need anything more than that."

The General exhaled slowly, setting the document aside. "That woman is your subordinate, Caleb." "She won't be in my direct line of command. I checked." "She's still in the same structure. Same base. You'll outrank her in most rooms." "I've already filed the conflict disclosure with the Ethics Board." Caleb said evenly. "Everything's by the book."

The General didn't respond right away. Instead, he tapped his knuckle once against the desk, soft, deliberate. "There's still time to reconsider." Caleb, who was debating if he should walk out door, took up once again. "With all due respect, I'm not changing my mind." "That's not what I meant."

From a drawer, the General pulled out a cream colored folder, gold insignia glinting in the corner. He slid it forward on the desk, but Caleb didn’t reach for it. "She's a good match." His father said evenly. "Graduated internationally. Speaks three languages. Her father and I go back decades. Logistics unit. Non-combat role. I heard the two of you spoke at the memorial last spring." Caleb's voice stayed level. "I didn't realize a conversation about weather and buffet lines was grounds for matchmaking."

"You're not a child." The General said, gaze narrowing. "You know how these things work. She's smart. Steady. Comes from a good family. No complications." Caleb let the silence stretch. He didn't look at the folder. Didn't even glance at it. "I'm not interested." He said simply. "You've barely entertained the idea." "Because I'm already with someone."

The General's expression didn't flicker. "That's not how it looks from here." "It doesn't matter how it looks." Caleb said. "It hasn't ended." "She hasn’t spoken to you in five months." "And I haven't spoken to her." He replied. "But that's not the same as being over." "Don't be naïve." The General muttered. "Silence is a kind of answer too."

Caleb's jaw tensed, only briefly before he relaxed again, the picture of composure. Like someone who'd rehearsed the disappointment. "I'm not holding out for some dramatic reunion. I'm not showing up in Uruk with a ring in my pocket. I'm going to do my job." He looked down at the folder once, then away. "But I'm not going to pretend I'm available just because it's easier for everyone else."

The General studied him like a soldier across a war table. "People are beginning to talk." He said. "She was your subordinate. Now you're following her halfway around the world." Caleb raised his chin slightly. "Then let them talk. I've done nothing unethical." "She's a Master Sergeant. You're a Colonel." "And she's one of the best soldiers I've ever worked with." Caleb said, unwavering. "And one of the best people." No reply.

Caleb let out a slow breath. "You know what I remember most from the last time I saw her?" He said quietly. "It wasn't the fight. Or the silence. It was the way she looked at me like I was still someone worth knowing, even when I couldn't say everything she deserved to hear." His voice dipped, just a fraction. "I never told her about the pressure. The calls. The meetings. The fact that your approval still mattered more than I wanted it to."

He looked back up. "I thought I had time. I thought she'd wait. But she doesn't owe me anything." "And yet, you’re still going after her." The General said. Caleb nodded. "Not to fix anything. Just to show up. No rank. No expectations. If all I do is see her from across the mess hall once in a while, that's enough. She deserves someone who chooses her without a second thought. So I'm starting there."

The silence in the room changed. It wasn't tense anymore, just still. Eventually, the General closed the folder and set it aside. "You were never your sister." He said. Caleb didn't flinch. "She never let emotion get in the way of duty." "That's true. She's good at that." "You always felt too much." "That's also true."

The General's face was unreadable. "Feelings get people killed." Caleb's voice was calm. "And fear keeps people from living." He stepped forward, picked up the deployment file, tucked it under one arm. "I'll come back in one piece, sir." The General didn't move. "And what if she doesn't want you there?" He asked, finally.

Caleb paused at the door. "Then I'll keep my distance. I'll respect her space. I'll do my job." He glanced out the window. "But even if she never says a word to me... I'll still be glad I went. Because she's there. And for once, I want to be where she is. Not where I'm expected to be."

A beat. No approval. No blessing. But no more protest either. Caleb raised his hand, offered a clean salute. Then turned on his heel and walked out. Boots quiet on tile, spine straight, uniform sharp. The door closed gently behind him.

And the General sat alone in the echo of the silence, a faint crease between his brows. Across the desk, the air conditioning hummed on. And behind the old man's eyes, something, worry, pride, regret stayed moving, long after his son was gone.

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The air inside the medical tent carried the sharp, recycled tang of metal and something faintly antiseptic, like secondhand breath. A fan swung on a rusting hinge in the corner, clicking with every pass, stirring a heat that clung more than cooled. The cot beneath it sagged slightly, seams worn thin. A few soldiers waited in line, shoulders slouched, faces slack with exhaustion, dust streaked across their boots.

Zayne stood by the tray table, clipboard in one hand, blue gloves already snapped on. Sleeves rolled to his forearms. Movements clipped. Precise. He looked like someone ticking through a checklist, one more box, one more name. Nothing about him said Uruk. Nothing said here.

You ducked in through the flap without slowing, brows lifted, a half folded print requisition in your grip. "This is medical." You said. "I was looking for admin. Unless toner's being administered intravenously now." Zayne didn't glance up right away. "You're due for a physical." "That's fast." "You missed it last week." "I didn't miss it. I tactically evaded it. There's nuance."

He gestured toward the cot without lifting his eyes. "Sit." You glanced at the others, one raised a resigned thumb, another shifted slightly, offering you his spot with the weariness of someone who'd rather not witness whatever spectacle might follow.

You sighed, dramatic. "If you stab me wrong, I will faint on purpose. Just to create workplace trauma." "You're not afraid of needles." Zayne replied, already pulling open sterile packaging. "Rude to expose a soldier's psychological theater like that." "You're not pretending." He said, aligning the tray. "You're performing."

You tilted your head. "Difference?" "Pretending is private. Performing means you want someone to notice." Your mouth twitched. "Well. You are noticing." He looked at you then, briefly. "I stitched you up last year. Two-inch laceration. No anesthetic. You didn't blink. You're not convincing me now."

The edges of your grin slipped, quieting. You sat, arm offered without argument. "I was bleeding out." "You were telling bad jokes." "Same thing, sometimes." Zayne wrapped the tourniquet with steady fingers. His hands never hesitated. You remembered that about him. How nothing ever seemed to catch him off guard. Or if it did, he didn't show it.

"You were quieter then." He said. "I was dying." He didn't laugh. Didn't smile. Just swabbed your inner elbow and tapped lightly. You didn't flinch when the needle slid in. He filled the vial in silence, eyes on his work.

You watched him, too. Watched the way he kept everything in order, every motion precise, like it cost him something to lose even a second of control. He pressed gauze to your arm, taped it down. "No lollipops in this clinic?" You asked lightly. "Budget's tight." "I'll file a complaint." "I'll forward it to command. Brave soldier denied candy. A tragedy."

You stood, brushing imaginary dust from your sleeve. "Another successful trauma survived. I expect a citation." "I can offer a used Band Aid." "That's the most romantic thing anyone's said to me all month."

His gaze flicked to you then. Just a beat. Measured. Steady. Not soft, just present. You held it for a second. Said nothing. Then you nodded toward the others. "I'll stop stealing your patients." Zayne gave a faint nod. "Try not to trip over your ego." "Impossible. It's aerodynamic." You saluted lazily, then stepped out. The flap closed behind you.

Zayne didn't move. Didn't call the next name. He stood with one hand resting on the tray, still watching the spot you'd been a moment before as if the echo of you hadn't quite left the room.

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You stepped out of the main HQ doors with the taste of bureaucratic salt still on your tongue. The debrief had lasted nearly three hours, and if one more general reminded you to 'de-escalate contact whenever possible.' You might have de-escalated your fist directly into their coffee cup.

Still, the operation had gone mostly smooth. The smugglers were caught. No shots fired. Just a quiet little line in a report now. And a new line in yours. Temporarily removed from direct intervention tasks. You tugged your cap lower over your eyes and walked toward your jeep.

Behind you, voices casual, nearby. Leanne and someone else. "Zayne?" You glanced over your shoulder, eyebrows twitching up. He was in his usual post-rounds attire, fatigues, but loose, white coat half tucked under his arm, like he hadn't planned to stop but ended up doing it anyway. His eyes flicked toward you but eventually look back at Leanne.

"Just asking about the Wi-Fi." He said dryly. "Didn't know I'd need a retinal scan to send one damn email." Leanne gave him a crooked smile. "Military network's restricted. You know that." He ran a hand over the back of his neck, clearly trying not to look annoyed. "I'm not trying to hack missiles. I just need to access a hospital database."

"Then maybe." Leanne said, jerking her chin toward you. "You should ask your personal keycard over there. They've got a city clearance route and nothing urgent on rotation." You paused, one boot on your car step. "... Wait, what now?" Zayne looked between the two of you. "You're heading into the city?" "I was heading for coffee." You replied, deadpan. "But sure, let's add tech support to my resume."

Leanne grinned, tossing Zayne a subtle shrug. "Don't say I never did anything for you." You narrowed your eyes at her, then pointed two fingers at Zayne. "No funny business. No medical lectures. No playlists." Zayne held up both hands like he was surrendering. "Deal."

You got in. So did he. The hum of the road filled the silence for a while, dust and sun slipping past the windshield in gold smears. You weren't going fast. Just steady. Zayne adjusted the air conditioning vent, glancing sideways. "So. Another quiet day in paradise?" You snorted. "If paradise comes with illegal firearms and condescending HQ officers, sure."

He blinked. "You were in that transport sting?" "Yeah. Until HQ pulled me off all intervention detail. Told me to 'observe for now.'" You made finger quotes. "Apparently, they're allergic to initiative." Zayne hummed, tapping a knuckle against the dash. "So now you're grounded and babysitting me."

You gave him a side eye. "Is that gratitude I hear?" "No. It's resignation." You cracked a smile. "Now that sounds familiar." He was quiet for a second, eyes on the passing market stalls outside the window. "You always do that." "What?" "Charge into things before they go bad." You scoffed. "Would you rather I wait until it does go bad?" "No." He said, glancing at you. "Just wondering what it costs you every time you do."

You didn't answer that. Not right away. Outside, the minarets of downtown Uruk cast long shadows across the sand colored buildings. A boy chased a kite across a rooftop. A dog barked somewhere far off. Eventually, you said. "I'd rather it cost me than anyone else."

Zayne didn't argue with that. He never did when you said things that were too true.

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The sign above the café was sun-bleached and crooked, half the letters peeled off so it looked like it read 'C F E & D A A.' You parked like you were late to a hostage situation, barely letting the engine die before hopping out.

Zayne stepped out after you, moving slower, brushing invisible dust off his sleeves like the very air annoyed him. He looked at the sun like it had personally offended him.

"I'm starting to think you only bring me on these drives for your own amusement." He muttered, eyes squinting up at the sun. "I bring you because you need Wi-Fi and your VPN thinks trauma charts are a national threat." He didn't argue. Just followed you inside, ducking slightly as he stepped under the too low doorway.

He glanced at the tablet, then at the café like he was already counting how many organisms might be living on the doorknob. Still, he followed you in. The inside was no better, empty but for a few guys huddled over their phones in the corner, a ceiling fan that creaked louder than it spun, and the faint smell of burnt beans pretending to be coffee.

Zayne said nothing. Just stood there a beat too long, taking it in with that clinical stillness of his. Then he followed you to a bacm corner table, quiet as ever. You found a table near the back, plugged in the router code behind the napkin dispenser, and slid the tablet toward him. "Welcome to international access." You said. "Try not to get us blacklisted."

Zayne sat, adjusted the brightness on his screen like the café lighting had personally betrayed him, and opened a file. You watched him for a moment, sipping your drink. "You know." You said, sipping your drink. "For someone who works with open wounds, you're surprisingly delicate." "I like sterile things." He replied calmly. "You, unfortunately, are not one of them." You snorted. "Is that your way of saying you missed me?"

Zayne didn't rise to the bait. He never did. But he did glance at you with that barely, there twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I like things I can control." He said simply, like it was no big deal. "Places like this don't count." You raised an eyebrow. "Neither do I, I guess?" He didn't look up. "You've never counted."

It took a second for that to land. Not an insult, just Zayne speaking for how you've never been easy to pin down, to categorize. You looked at him, and maybe he felt it, because his fingers paused over the screen. It wasn't awkward. Not quite. Just that hovering thing again, familiar now. Almost close, almost safe.

Then a voice cut through the air. "No fucking way. You're here?" You blinked. Of all people. Alec. A UN volunteer. Ex-fling. Wears sunglasses indoors and once tried to cook pasta on a campfire. Still smug, still annoyingly good-looking in that 'I bet you left someone’s heart back at home' kind of way. He walked over, holding his coffee like a trophy. "You're the last person I expected to see off post."

"Guess your day's off to a bad start." You replied, tone pleasant enough to be a warning. He didn't pick up on it. Of course. "And you've got company." Alec added, nodding toward Zayne. "Didn't think you were the type to settle down." Zayne didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just kept scrolling. You sipped your coffee. "He's not my anything." "Shame." Alec said, grinning. "I was hoping to feel jealous."

"I can give you a reason if you want." you replied sweetly. "Still remember your ex's name." That made Alec blink, just a bit. Then Zayne finally looked up. His gaze was steady, unreadable. "No obvious signs of concussion." He said mildly. "But your judgment seems impaired." Alec frowned. "What?" "They're not your patient anymore." Zayne added, voice still level. "You can let go."

That shut him up. Alec looked between you and Zayne one last time, then muttered something about catching up later and backed off.

When he was gone, you leaned on the table, watching Zayne. "You always this passive aggressive or is that just for exes?" He didn't look at you. "Some things are better left where they belong." You tilted your head. "And where do I belong?"

This time he did glance at you. Briefly. Like he was trying to weigh the risk of answering honestly. But he said nothing. You leaned back, nodding to yourself. "Thought so." There was a long beat. "I don't mind if you don't answer." You added softly. Zayne didn't lift his eyes from the screen, but his voice was quieter this time. "You've never been easy to ignore."

You blinked, caught off-guard. But he didn't clarify. Didn't explain. Just returned to whatever chart he was reading, as if nothing had shifted in the air between you. But something had. You both felt it. The silence stretched.

Then, in a low voice, you said. "Be honest. Were you jealous?" "No." You smiled, small and said. "Liar." He didn't deny it. Just looked at you slow and thoughtful. "Let's just say." He murmured. "I'd prefer to not see you entertained by someone who once tried to use iodine as cologne." You snorted. "Oh my God. You remember that?"

"It was burned into my memory. So was the night I stitched your arm after that incident with the window." "That was a tactical misstep." You deadpan. "You said you slipped." "I was trying to break in." "Into your own quarters." "Details, doctor." Zayne gave a rare, almost smile. "Still afraid of needles?" "I was never afraid of needles." "I know." He said quietly. "I just like when you pretend."

And just like that. The tone shifted. Not drastically. Not jarringly. Just... enough. You looked at him for a long second. Then sat back, letting out a breath. "Don't make it weird." You said lightly. Zayne returned to his screen, eyes steady. "I wasn't going to."

But something unspoken hung between you. Like maybe one of you almost had.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

The sky was a dull bruise of gold and blue, horizon bleeding into the kind of heat that blurred edges and made everything feel further away. You drove with one hand, the other clutching a nearly melting slushie that was already dripping red onto your wrist.

Zayne didn't ask to hold it. You'd already told him no. "You'll throw off the syrup balance." You'd said. He'd only looked at you, unimpressed, unsleeping, tablet balanced against one knee like it offended him to need it at all. His posture was calm, neat. Not relaxed, not tense. Just steady.

Maybe that's what irritated you most about him or if you're being quite honest, you liked that about him. The way nothing seemed to rattle him, even when it clearly did.

You glanced his way. "You know Caleb and Leanne were basically enemies-to-lovers, right?" Zayne didn't look up. "No." "No, they weren't or no, you're pretending the tension wasn't obvious? You saw them at the hospital back then, right?" "There's no tension. Just poor taste." "In each other?" "In general."

You smiled to yourself. "You sure that's not just jealousy talking?" That made him look up, finally. Barely a flicker. "Of who? Caleb?" "Still collecting data." You murmured, eyes on the road.

He watched you for a long second. Not irritated. Not even confused. Just… Thinking. "Do you always talk like this while driving?" He asked. "Only when I'm trying to keep someone from dying of emotional constipation." He exhaled. Not quite a sigh. Something quieter. He didn't argue, which, in your book, counted as reluctant agreement.

You took a slow sip of your slushie, the cup colder than it had any right to be in the desert. "I'm serious though. Leanne and Caleb? They were practically at each other's throats back then. He was her superior officer, and she didn't take well to being told what to do. It was like watching two magnets figure out how to orbit without combusting."

Zayne said nothing. But his scrolling had stopped. "Sounds inefficient." He said eventually. You shrugged. "Or maybe just familiar." He didn't take the bait.

The road buzzed under the tires, sand scraping at the sides of the car as the asphalt gave way to rougher ground. For a while, neither of you spoke. Then.

"I take it you were there for all of that?" "Bits and pieces." You said. "I was there for the wedding." Zayne raised a brow, attention sharpening. "Wedding?" "Leanne's ex got married. Big dramatic thing. Nice view. Terrible fish." "And you attended?" You laughed. "Not exactly. But I was involved. Caleb and Leanne showed up together. Uninvited."

Zayne blinked. "They crashed it?" You nodded. "Uniform and everything. She walked in like vengeance in a dress. He didn't even flinch." Zayne was still watching you. "That doesn't sound like something he'd do." "It wasn’t his idea." "Whose then?"

"Mine." You said. "His parents were getting nosy. Kept trying to push us together like it was some kind of arranged PR campaign. So I made him a deal. He plays the fake boyfriend, and I play dead the next time they bring it up." He was quiet. No judgment, just... Still. Then. "And Leanne was fine with that?" You nodded. "She knew. More or less. It wasn't about the bride anyway."

Zayne didn't comment. But his fingers were still, tablet forgotten on his lap. You didn't push. Not yet. Eventually, you slowed the car.

Zayne straightened. "This isn't base." "Nope." You said. "Port." He looked ahead. Faint lines of fishing boats and weather worn docks stretched out toward the sea. Nets hung like ghosts off leaning fences. The air shifted salt, wind, motion.

Zayne turned toward you. "You took a detour." "I did." You said. "For what?" You gave a faint smile. "Faster Wi-Fi. Better view. Little of both." He didn't roll his eyes, but the look he gave you came close. Still, he stepped out, tablet tucked under his arm.

The sea breeze hit like a long exhale. He walked with you to the edge, hands in his pockets, his gaze flicking across the low horizon. He said nothing. "You lied." He said after a while. "About the vibe?" You asked, sipping the last of your slushie. "Absolutely."

He didn't look at you right away. Just stood there beside you, watching the light shift over the water like he was trying to make sense of it.

"I didn't ask for a scenic route." You looked at him. "No." You said. "But you looked like you needed one." His expression didn't change. But something about his shoulders eased. Just barely.

You leaned forward, elbows against the rail, letting the breeze tug at your sleeves. "So." You said after a moment. "Still think Caleb's incapable of breaking rules?" Zayne was quiet. "No." He said eventually. "I think he's capable." You turned to look at him. "And?" "I wonder what else he's willing to break them for."

There it was. Not jealousy. Not exactly. But something close. Something quieter and heavier and not ready to be named. You didn't answer. Just let the silence linger.

Then, from the backseat, you pulled out a can of soda you'd hidden for later and lobbed it at him. "Congratulations." You said. "You've completed your side quest." Zayne caught it without flinching. Looked down at the label, then at you. "That what this was?" "With me, it always is."

He cracked it open. Took a sip. And didn't argue. Not this time.

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The boat hummed beneath your feet, cutting across sunlit water as the city faded behind you, all mirrored glass and heat haze, swallowed slowly by the horizon. You kept one hand on the tiller, the other curled loosely around an empty plastic cup sweating through your palm.

Zayne sat stiffly beside you, arms crossed, like he wasn't sure whether this counted as an ambush or a favor. His gaze swept the water, unimpressed.

"You're quiet." You said. "I'm on a boat in the middle of nowhere." He replied evenly. "Forgive me if I'm conserving oxygen." You smiled. "You're not the one doing the navigation." "I still reserve the right to question your motives." "I brought snacks."

Zayne turned his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. "That supposed to reassure me?" "No." You said brightly. "It's supposed to distract you from the fact that I never turned on the GPS." That earned you a quiet exhale. Not quite a sigh. Not quite amusement either. But something softer than indifference.

"You always do this?" He asked. "Hijack people who ask for better Wi-Fi?" "Only the ones who look like they haven't breathed in a week." Zayne didn't answer. But he didn't ask to turn around, either.

The coastline curved into view, secluded, quiet, bookended by jagged rock and leaning trees. Tucked near the shore, half swallowed by sand and seaweed, was a rusted shipwreck. Nothing dramatic. Just there, like it had been waiting.

Zayne followed you onto the sand without a word. He looked around, hands in his pockets, squinting slightly against the glare. "You brought me to a shipwreck." He said at last. "You're welcome." He gave you a long look. "You dragged me out here for symbolism." You shrugged. "What can I say? I'm subtle."

You climbed up the old frame, boots scuffing the sun warmed metal. Zayne didn't follow right away. Just stood there, quiet, as if he were still waiting for you to make this make sense. Eventually, he climbed up beside you, careful, movements measured. You handed him a smooth, flat rock. He caught it automatically.

"What is this?" "A souvenir." Zayne looked at you. "They say if you take one, it means you'll come back." "That's not how souvenirs work." You smirked. "No. But it's how fate works." He turned the stone in his hand, thoughtful. "You don't strike me as someone who believes in fate." "I don't." You said. "But I like giving people reasons to."

Zayne didn't reply. Just held the rock like it had weight beyond its size. You leaned back on your palms. The sky had turned a washed out blue, the kind that made everything feel a little too honest.

"Want to know how it really happened?" You asked. He didn't ask what you meant. Just waited. "Leanne wanted to crash her ex’s wedding." You said. "Not to cause a scene. Just… to stop feeling like she lost. Caleb agreed. But only if she helped him convince his parents they were together."

Zayne's jaw moved slightly, like he was chewing on the logic. "He asked her to pretend." You nodded. "Only because his family wouldn't stop pushing me at him." Zayne blinked. Looked over at you for the first time in minutes. "Did they?" You gave a wry smile. "They thought I was convenient."

He frowned. Not deeply. But enough that the crease stayed between his brows. "You're not convenient." He said quietly. You didn't say anything. "So they faked it." He went on. "For a while." You said. "For a while?" "Yeah, and eventually, rumours around the base started circulating that they're sleeping together. And they aren't of course, yet." There was a moment of silence. "Then Caleb got tired of the rumours and pretending and just told her the truth. Said he liked her. Said he was done pretending. And she feel the same way because she own it." Zayne didn't respond.

You watched the tide roll in and out, soft and steady. "It wasn't some sweeping confession." You added. "No drama. Just two people deciding not to keep their distance."

Still, he said nothing. But his fingers curled tighter around the stone. After a while, you nudged his foot. "You gonna keep it?" Zayne looked down at the rock. "What happens if I lose it?" "Then maybe you weren't meant to come back." He glanced at you, eyes unreadable. "And if I keep it?" You stood. Brushed off your hands. "Then you're stuck with the memory."

You started walking toward the shoreline again. Behind you, there was a pause. Then the sound of a small rock slipping into a pocket. You didn't turn. But you smiled anyway.

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Zayne stood at the tide line, eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun dragged itself slowly into the sea, casting long gold streaks across the water. You wandered over barefoot, shoes dangling from one hand, the other brushing sand from your thigh.

"You ever think about quitting?" He asked still watching the waves. You tilted your head. "Quitting what?" He didn't move. "The job. All of it." You shrugged lightly, toes sinking into the damp sand. "Sometimes. When the quiet feels too loud. Or when someone outranks me and still manages to have half a brain cell. Or when I snap a shovel in half doing something stupid and end up icing my own wrist."

Zayne huffed, barely audible. "You make that sound like a mild inconvenience." "You look at me like it was." You said. "Like I'm the kind of idiot who'd get taken out by gardening equipment." He glanced sideways at you, the corners of his mouth tugging faintly. "Carelessness suits you."

"Says the guy still carrying a rock like it means something." He looked down toward his pocket like it had betrayed him. "I didn't say I trusted it." "No, but you didn't toss it either." You bumped your elbow gently against his. "Face it. You're more sentimental than you let on."

He didn't deny it. Just gave a quiet exhale, the edge of a smile playing at his mouth. "You're reading too much into things again." You let the silence sit between you, comfortable as the tide. The wind pushed at your clothes, soft and salty.

Eventually, you said. "You never really told me how you've been. Before all this." "I did." He said. "You didn't buy it." "Because 'fine' from you sounds like code for internal bleeding." That pulled something closer to a real smile from him, small, but there. "I've been getting by." He said. "Worked a lot. Kept my head down. Took on a few surgeries. And when that didn't help, got signed up for Uruk."

"To escape?" "To reset." He said. "Didn't think I'd actually get the time to." You looked at him. "And now you're here. With me. On a beach. Technically trespassing." "Technically, you're the one violating the perimeter." "Technically." You muttered. He didn't argue. You shifted closer, voice lower now. "Thanks, by the way. For treating me." Zayne nodded once. "Thanks for the rock."

You studied his face. Not quite smiling, but something in him had eased. The kind of softness that didn't ask for attention. The kind you only noticed if you'd been watching all along. And you had.

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The sun had slipped behind the hills, streaking the sky with lazy smears of orange and rose. The road ahead unraveled in dusky quiet, windows down, warm wind curling through the car like a half-forgotten memory. You didn’t bother with music. The silence felt better, less forced, more earned.

Zayne sat beside you, one elbow resting on the door, his other hand absentmindedly turning the edge of his sleeve. He looked like he belonged there, half asleep in the wind, half lost in thought.

"So." He said eventually, gaze still on the road. "You really think that fake dating thing just... Worked out?" You flicked the turn signal. "Worked out for Leanne and Caleb. A pause. "You think that'd work for anyone?" He asked. You snorted. "Are you offering?"

He didn't smile. Didn't blink. Just kept looking straight ahead. "Would you take it if I did?" Your fingers tightened slightly on the wheel. "No." He turned his head then, just enough to see you. "Why not?" You exhaled through your nose, eyes on the fading light bleeding into the horizon.

"Because I wouldn't want to fake anything with you." That landed with the weight of something unspoken. He didn't answer. Just leaned back again, slow and unreadable. After a beat, he asked, more quietly. "Do you always say things like that?" You shrugged, lips quirking. "Only when I feel like losing the upper hand."

You didn't look at him, but you could feel the shift in his attention, how still he went, like something in him was working too hard to stay unaffected.

"Besides, I don't think you'd survive the rumors." You added. Zayne let out a soft breath. "You underestimate me." "You're the one who said you don't do this kind of thing." You said, voice low, less teasing now. "Maybe." He said. Then, after a pause that dragged a little too long. "Still thinking about it." That shut you up.

The car bumped over a pothole, and you let out a startled laugh, too quick, too awkward, like you were trying to shake something off. You gestured toward the bend in the road ahead. "We'll be back in twenty. You want to tell them we got lost again or…?" "I'll let you lie." He murmured. "You're better at it." You smirked. "You're getting good at compliments." Zayne closed his eyes, head resting against the window. "Don't get used to it."

But his hand drifted briefly to the edge of his pocket, fingers brushing the shape of the stone still tucked there. And when you started humming to the radio, soft and off key. He didn't ask you to stop.

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The cardboard boxes had started to feel personal. You'd been in the supply tent long enough to memorize their serial numbers, categorize them by smell, and resent them for existing. One stack had a dent you kept smoothing over with your knuckle every time you passed. You'd named it denial.

Probation wasn't solitary confinement. But it had that same quiet shame to it like you'd broken something no one could prove, but everyone could feel. No fieldwork. No squad command. Just logistical busywork and a clipboard full of chores that didn't matter.

You weren't stupid. You knew you were lucky A court martial would've made sense. You had gone directly against Command. Greenlit an unsanctioned emergency operation on the President of Uruk. You should've waited for evac protocol. You didn't. You looked at the crashing vitals, looked at the clock, looked at Zayne and said do it. He did. The President lived. And you got benched.

The tent flap rustled once, then again. You didn't turn around. "If you're Command, I already confessed to alphabetizing the trauma kits by personal betrayal." "Should've gone with blood type." Then came Zayne's voice low, familiar, steady as ever. You looked over your shoulder. He stood at the edge of the tent, not in scrubs today. Just fatigues, hands loose at his sides, posture casual but weighted in a way only you would catch.

You offered a weak smile. "You here to assess the mental health of a defiant logistics mischief?" "No." He said, stepping inside. "Came to see how you're doing." That caught you off guard. "Me? Here I thought I was off your patient list." He scanned the cramped room. "Not much of a recovery ward." You gestured broadly. "Five star. Comes with guilt, shame, and a complimentary identity crisis."

Zayne gave a quiet huff, almost a laugh. He leaned against the shelving unit but didn't move closer. "How are you?" You asked.He lifted an eyebrow. "You're the one in probation." "Sure. But you're the one who opened up a head of state on a medi-cube and somehow walked out with your license intact."

Zayne's mouth twitched. "I'm fine." "Uh huh. That your professional opinion?" He shrugged. "Didn't sleep. Still not sleeping." You nodded. The air between you was still, but not heavy. It wasn't awkward, it was just full. "I'm sorry." You said quietly. "For pulling you into it." "You didn't pull me." He replied. "You asked. I said yes." You opened your mouth, but he held your gaze. "You didn't pressure me. You just looked like you couldn't stand doing nothing." That part was true.

He let the pause stretch, then added. "You did the right thing." You smiled faintly. "Just not the right way." "Exactly." You leaned forward, arms resting on your knees. "You always were good at patching people up after they bleed for what they believe in." His eyes softened. "Yeah. Well. You bled loud." You snorted. "Better than bleeding quiet."

Zayne pushed off the shelf and stepped forward, slow and even. He didn't sit, just stood near you, close enough to be grounding. He asked, voice low. "You holding up?" You hesitated. "I'm angry. Embarrassed. Kind of scared Command'll cut me out completely." He nodded. "But I'd do it again." Another pause, then. "I know."

He lingered by the flap before saying. "I heard you'll be off inventory soon. Until then... stay where they can't lose you." You frowned. "That supposed to be comforting?" "Maybe." He turned slightly, about to leave, when you called after him. "Zayne?" He paused. "I'm glad it was you in that room."

His shoulders relaxed. Not dramatically, just enough. Enough that you knew it meant something. Then he slipped out into the dusk. You stayed there a while. Long enough for the quiet to shift from punishment to something almost peaceful.

When you finally took a peak outside, the air had cooled. The generator buzzed faintly down the corridor, and the tin cup in your hand steamed weakly with instant coffee. You sat on the wooden step, half tilted chair beneath you, staring out at the darkening horizon. Then a crunch of gravel gave her away. Leanne.

She didn't speak right away. Just stood beside you, hands in her pockets, eyes forward like she wasn't sure if sitting down meant staying too long. "I already gave Zayne the best shelf in there." You said. "You'll have to settle for this step."

She exhaled through her nose, almost a laugh, and finally dropped down beside you. "I heard." She said. "About what?" "About the reprimand. About Command." You nodded. "Only took them two days to loop the entire camp in. New record." Leanne hesitated. "They're pulling me." Your head snapped toward her. "What?" "Reassignment. Temporary, they said. Might be permanent." "Why?"

She didn't look at you. "Caleb’s being deployed here." The breath caught in your throat. "They don't want us on the same rotation. Might 'complicate structure.'" You stared at her. "But you're not even-" "They don't care." You sat up straighter. "You were here. You followed orders. Hell, I'm the one who broke them." "You were Captain. They're not court martialing you because the President lived." "But you-" "It's not punishment." She cut in. "It's optics." You said nothing.

She glanced at you, voice dry. "Turns out, dating history matters more than your service record. Especially when one of you is a Colonel" You let out a bitter breath. "That's bullshit." She didn't disagree. "I don't want to leave." She said softly. "Then don't." "If I fight it, they'll rotate you instead. Or pull the whole squad. We're too visible."

The silence returned, taut and unfair. "I hate this." You muttered. "I hate that I can do everything right." Leanne said. "And still get moved like a liability." She looked down at her hands. You nudged her shoulder. "Still got your coffee tolerance?" She eyed your cup, then took it. One sip. A scowl. "You drink this on purpose?" "Builds character." She passed it back. "You're already all character and no impulse control."

You leaned against her. She didn't pull away. For now, you were still here. Still side by side. Even if that wouldn't last.

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Your boots hit the cement outside the mess like the end of a sentence you didn't get to finish.

Three days in the stockroom. Three days of Command silence, and pitying glances from people too low ranking to speak but high ranking enough to know. Three days of counting gauze packets and wondering if every fold meant something.

You squared your shoulders. Stepped through the Hall- "CAPTAIN!" Napkins flew. A spoon clanged. Reyes whooped like you'd just won a war. "... What the hell is this?" "WELCOME BACK FROM LOCK UP!" Someone shouted.

Leanne didn't bother hiding her smirk. She stood with one arm resting on a folding chair, a plastic juice cup in hand. "Did you get your one phone call?" Another voice chimed in. "We thought about a cake. All we had was surgical-grade flour and judgment." You dropped your tray down with a long suffering sigh. "Probation is not lock up. I wasn't cuffed. I was just... supervised. By cardboard."

From the soup line, Reyes added. "You pulled an unsanctioned op on a head of state and lived. That's rogue legend behavior." You held your hands up. "You disobey one order to save a life and suddenly everyone's talking like you stabbed someone behind the barracks." "Did you?" Someone asked. "Do I look like I'd commit murder without at least filing a report?"

That got a good laugh. Leanne kicked out the chair next to her. "Sit." She said. "We missed your questionable moral compass." You dropped into the seat, stealing one of her carrots without shame. The banter hummed around you like a warm engine, steady, familiar. Even under the watchful eyes of Command, here in this hall, you were still you.

You were halfway through stealing a chunk of Leanne’s protein cube when the mood shifted. Not a full stop, just a subtle thread pulling tense. You looked up. Zayne stood in the hall's entrance.

He wasn't in scrubs. Hust plain clothes. Civilian shirt, sleeves rolled, collar crooked like he'd pulled it from a laundry bag. The last time you’d seen him, his hands were still red from surgery. Now he looked... Fine. Rested. Almost.

His gaze swept the room. Paused. Landed on you. Held. Then he turned. No nod. No greeting. Just pivoted on his heel and slipped back through the flap like he hadn't meant to stop. Your chair scraped the floor. Leanne's hand brushed your sleeve. "Maybe give him-" "I'll just check." You said. And you followed.

The sun slapped your face the second you stepped outside. Zayne's back was already retreating, boots kicking up soft dust. He wasn't walking fast, but he wasn't lingering either.

"Zayne." He didn't stop right away. Three steps. Then he did. Turned halfway, hands loose at his sides. You stopped behind him, close but not too close. "I didn't know you were going there." You said. "I wasn't planning to be." He answered. "Got hungry." Your brow lifted. "And then turned around because the mess hall had too much laughter in it?"

"You looked busy." "With food?" He exhaled through his nose. "You looked... fine." "Is that a problem?" Zayne's eyes flicked to the gravel, then out toward the medi-cube. "I was going to ask how you were." You blinked. "Then why didn't you?" "I didn't want to interrupt." "You wouldn't have." A pause. "So ask."

His gaze met yours again. "How are you?" You offered a tired smile. "Bored. Salted. Emotionally unstable, but functioning. Mostly held together by sarcasm and instant coffee." Zayne's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "So- normal." You tilted your head. "And you?" "I'm… okay." He than added softly. "I don't do much here." You frowned. "You're still stationed?"

He nodded. "I rotate through med checks. No surgery. Nothing urgent. Honestly, feels more like vacation." You looked at him more closely now, the lack of exhaustion under his eyes, the evenness of his breathing. "You hate it." "I didn't say that." "You didn't have to."

Zayne looked at you then, really looked and for a second, you felt something unsaid hanging right there between the two of you.

But before either of you could touch it, boots crunched against the ground behind. Two soldiers in pressed Uruk uniform approached with unreadable expressions. "Captain." One said, with a nod. "Doctor." You straightened. Zayne did too. "The President is requesting your presence." The soldier said.

Zayne's brows pulled together. "Is he stable?" "This isn't a medical issue." The other replied. "But it is urgent." You shared a glance with Zayne. His expression had shuttered calm, but alert. "Right now?" You asked. "Immediately." You looked down at your dust-streaked boots, at your still warm tray of food abandoned inside. Then back up at the soldier. "Can I finish lunch first?" No reaction. You sighed. "Didn't think so." Zayne's voice was quiet beside you. "Let's go."

And just like that, whatever breath of normalcy you'd reclaimed evaporated. This wasn't about punishment anymore. Something had shifted. And it was already coming.

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The glovebox clicked shut, but the weight of what it held still pulsed through the air between you and Zayne. Two slim black cards. Heavy with the presidential seal rested just beneath the latch. One for each of you. Access to nearly anything, anywhere, anytime. A pat on the shoulder, a clipped murmur. "For when following the rules isn't fast enough." That had been an hour ago.

Now, as the dusty city swallowed the horizon, you rolled down the window and let the dry wind slap against your cheek.

"This is ridiculous." You muttered, half to yourself. "Actual presidential black cards. Like I'm some off brand James Bond." Zayne didn't look up from the digital map pulsing on the dashboard. "You've always been more Jason Bourne." You glanced at him. "Because I can't follow orders?" He shrugged, still scanning the screen. "Because you disappear from protocol, break a few ribs, and resurface with the objective complete and no one quite sure whether to thank you or charge you."

That earned a laugh. A real one. It caught you off guard how easy it felt. These moments had been rare, quiet ones. No alarms, no pagers vibrating against hips, no static-filled radio transmissions slicing through the middle of a sentence. Just a borrowed civilian truck, your boots on the dash, and Uruk sloping beneath the hill, sun spilling over the streets like golden syrup.

Zayne leaned into the doorframe, voice calm. "So, what now? Weapons depot? Helicopter joyride? Presidential grade coffee?" You cracked a grin. "None of the above." He finally looked at you, eyebrows raised. "Then what are we doing?"

You shifted the wheel gently, guiding the truck down a side street off the main road. "I'm giving you a tour." Zayne blinked. "A tour." "Mm hmm." "Of Uruk?" "Yep." He stared, that usual unreadable expression softening by degrees. "You saved the President's life." You said. "The least I can do is show you where to get the good samosas."

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It shouldn't have felt like a date. You weren't in civilian. You weren't anywhere quiet or candlelit. You were weaving through carts and chatter with half a uniform and a sidearm.

But it did. It felt like one.

Zayne, who was reluctant at first, was already less stiff by the second stop. A tea stall manned by a woman who gave him something far too sweet in a dented metal cup. By the fifth, he was crouched near a sun warmed wall, having an entirely one sided debate with a street cat who couldn't even be bothered to look at him.

"Why's it ignoring me?" He asked, deadpan. You leaned down beside him, reached out, and the cat instantly rubbed against your hand, purring like a switch had been flipped. Zayne straightened slowly, betrayed. "Unbelievable." You grinned at him. "Try being likable." He gave you a dry look but his eyes lingered a moment longer than they should have.

You walked slower after that. Browsed through worn paperbacks, shared a bag of spiced peanuts from a street cart, wandered beneath faded awnings where old men played chess and ignored the heat. Every now and then, Zayne would say something under his breath, and you'd catch yourself smiling without thinking. It didn't feel fragile anymore, whatever was growing between you. It just felt late.

Eventually, the two of you found a quiet corner on a low concrete ledge. The market buzz was distant here, dulled by the surrounding walls and the late afternoon lull. You drank the last of your tea, lukewarm now, and tilted your head back to watch a single drone hover lazily across the sky.

Zayne watched you watching it. "You're quieter than usual." He said. You let out a slow breath. "Just thinking." "About?" You opened your mouth to answer. Then your phone buzzed.

You didn't even have to check. The vibration was sharp. Specific. You knew the rhythm too well. You sighed and pulled it out. Scanned the message. Immediate return. Command. Classified brief.

Zayne saw the change in your face before you said anything. His jaw tensed again. "Of course." He muttered, almost to himself. You pocketed the phone. "I'm sorry." "No, it's fine." He looked away, voice tighter. "It's just funny." You frowned. "What is?" He looked back at you, something worn behind his eyes. "Every time. We get five minutes. And then…"

You didn't respond. You didn't have to. Zayne studied the half empty cup in his hands. "It's not your fault. I know that. It’s the job. The life." You turned toward him. "Is that why we'll never work?" Zayne didn't answer at first. Then he nodded slowly, reluctantly. "I've been thinking about it. If I could handle it. You leaving mid conversation. Not knowing if you'll be back okay. Or at all."

The heaviness in your chest swelled. "Maybe I still can't." He said. You nodded once. No defense. No bargain. Just acceptance. "Okay." "I don't want to need certainty." He said. "But I think… I do."

You glanced back toward the square. The echo of a distant siren rose and faded again. The wind carried the scent of cumin and heat. "It's alright." You murmured. "Not everyone can live with interrupted." Zayne looked at you. "But you do." "Yeah. I do."

Neither of you moved. Then you stood. Took the keys back into your hand. And like always, you turned toward the call. Toward duty. Zayne didn't stop you. But his gaze lingered longer than it ever had.

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The wheels of the C-130 hissed against the cracked concrete as the plane taxied to a stop. Heat shimmered off the tarmac, thick and heavy, clinging to everything it touched. The sun had begun to retreat, casting lavender across the sky and painting the horizon in streaks of fire. The wind barely moved.

Colonel Caleb Xia descended the ramp one slow step at a time, duffel slung over his shoulder. His boots hit the ground with dull finality. His mouth was dry, but not from the heat.

He was looking forward to seeing her. And then he saw her.

Leanne stood near the edge of the strip, uniform sharp, deployment bag already across her back. She wasn't waiting for him. She was preparing to leave.

She didn't move when she saw him. Didn't wave, didn't smile. Her cap shaded her face, hiding everything but the sharp line of her jaw. She hadn't come for a reunion. She'd come to disappear.

Caleb froze mid step. Then he moved, faster than he meant to, boots thudding hard against the ground. His heart climbed into his throat. "Leanne." He called, voice half caught between disbelief and something worse. "Leanna- hey."

She turned at the sound, slowly. Her eyes met his for a heartbeat. And it was enough. Because he knew that look. That practiced calm. That awful stillness. She turned away and started walking.

"Master Sergeant Leanne Alberich." His voice cut across the quiet strip, sharper now. He caught up to her and reached out, closing his hand gently but firmly around her wrist. "What the hell’s going on?" She stopped. Didn’t look at him. "You're leaving." He said. "Yes." She replied, flat. "I just got here." "I know."

"You said you were staying." He said, his voice cracking slightly. "You said-" "I didn't say anything." Her voice was low. "We haven't spoken in months." He flinched like she'd slapped him. "But you knew I was coming." He said quietly. "You knew." She exhaled, steady, and pulled her hand free. Still not looking at him. "You came anyway."

His next words came raw, half broken. "Your gift is here, aren't I here?" He stared at her. "The one you wouldn't open." That made her eyes shut, just for a second. Just long enough to betray her. "You don't get it." She whispered. "Then explain it to me." He stepped in. "Please."

She finally looked at him. And it hurt. Because her face was carved into something noble and hollow. Like someone who had already made peace with grief before it even arrived. Like someone learning how to bury something alive.

"Your father is the reason they called me back." She said. "My orders were signed the same week yours were deployed." "I didn't know." "You weren't supposed to." He swallowed hard, like the words were burning his throat. "I thought... maybe this time. I thought we could try." "I know." She said softly. "I thought you still loved me." Her jaw clenched.

He waited. She said nothing. So he stepped closer, close enough to see how carefully she was keeping herself together. "You don’t have to protect me from loving you." He said. "I can take it. I want to take it. Even here. Even now. If this is war, I still choose you."

"You don't know what that means." "I do." He said. "It means I'm not running anymore." "I am." Her voice broke so quietly he nearly missed it. "I have to. Because you can afford to fight for this. But if I love you out loud, Caleb, they'll take everything from me." His chest hollowed out. "So you're just going to leave."

Leanne stepped forward. And hugged him. It was too quick. Too tight. Her arms locked around him like she was trying to memorize the shape of him in one breath. Her face buried in the collar of his shirt, just for a second. He barely had time to lift a hand to her back before she pulled away.

"Please be careful." She said. "There's nothing but sand and smoke out there. Don't get soft. And wear repellent, the mosquitoes are worse than the landmines." His hand stayed in the air. "Leanne-"

But she was already walking. She didn't look back. Couldn't. Because if she did, she knew she wouldn't get on the plane.

And Caleb stood there, surrounded by heat and floodlights, the silence stretching around him like wire. Still holding the weight of unopened gift.

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They didn't make you wait long.

"Three months pay deduction. And you're barred from taking the promotional exam this cycle." The officer said, eyes never lifting from the folder in front of him. His voice was detached, like he was reading weather conditions. "You're lucky. The president’s team pushed for leniency. That's the only reason you're still active duty."

You nodded once. A quiet, mechanical motion. You didn't trust your voice not to crack under the weight of what you weren't saying, the bite of pride, the sting of not quite shame. "You're dismissed." You stepped out into the sun like surfacing from water, blinking, skin prickling with heat, lungs catching on dry air. The canvas flaps rustled behind you. Light slammed against the sand.

Leaning against a nearby supply post, arms folded and collar undone, stood Caleb. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, that damn dog tag with an apple pendant tucked beneath the sweat damp fabric of his shirt. He looked you over once.

"Guessing by your face, they didn't throw a parade." You gave a dry, crooked laugh. "No confetti. Just a three-month pay cut and the enduring privilege of remaining a glorified captain." Caleb pushed off the post. "That's not terrible." "Thanks, Colonel Optimism." He shrugged one shoulder. "Could've been worse."

You didn't disagree. The two of you stood there, the sun buzzing overhead, watching the shimmer rise from the concrete and sandbags. Heat moved like a breath across the camp, fluttering the edges of tents and stirring the acrid dust that never quite settled.

"They made the right call." Caleb said finally. "Even if you scared the hell out of everyone." You smirked without looking at him. "Didn't know you cared." "I don't." He said too quickly. Then sighed. "I care about the paperwork you generate." You elbowed him. "Deflecting." He raised an eyebrow. "You want to talk about deflecting?" "Okay, okay. Don't start."

But something about him didn't lift. He looked older than he had last week. Not in years, in hours. In the kind of quiet exhaustion that piles up behind the eyes. The kind that starts when someone you love walks away and you have no idea when, or if they'll come back.

"She really left you, huh" You said. Caleb didn't nod, didn't flinch. Just stared out at the line of trucks, the dust in the air. "She did." "You miss her?" His jaw twitched. He hesitated, then said it like it cost him. "More than I should." You turned toward him. "And she knows?" "Of course she knows." He said, voice low. "But she left anyway."

You didn't say anything else. You didn't have to. You'd worn that look before the weight behind the eyes, the way silence held your ribs together when words couldn't.

From the corner of your vision, you caught movement. A familiar stride cutting across the path near the HQ tents. Zayne, still in plainclothes, jaw locked, shoulders taut beneath the unforgiving sun. He looked like he hadn't slept either. You straightened. Just slightly.

Caleb caught it. He didn't look at you, but he spoke under his breath. "He's here for you." "That's not necessary." "He thinks it is."

Zayne reached the edge of the tent line just as the two of you stepped into view. He didn’t slow. Not until you stepped forward and met him halfway, intercepting him before he could vanish into Headquarters.

"You don't have to talk to them." You said. Zayne stopped. His eyes met yours, unreadable, steady. "Yes, I do." "I already got the verdict." He looked at you for a moment longer. "Still." "I'm fine." You said. "It's done." Neither of you moved.

"Come on." You added, tilting your head toward the camp gates. "I owe you air conditioning and twenty minutes without someone shouting about logistics." Zayne didn't say yes. He just fell into step beside you, like he always did when he'd already decided.

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Zayne drove. You sat beside him in silence, boots up on the dashboard, elbow out the window. The wind whipped through the open cabin, tugging at your sleeve, scattering heat and dust across your face. Neither of you spoke.

The truck rattled over uneven ground, cutting across the open stretch beyond the wire. There was no destination. Just distance. Eventually, Zayne broke the quiet. "I shouldn't have let you make that call." You didn’t look at him. "Zayne-" "I should've stopped you." He said, voice rough. "Pull over." He blinked. "What?" "Pull over."

He hesitated, then steered the truck to the side of the road and let it idle to a stop near a rise in the landscape. Ahead, a dry, wind swept bluff overlooked the quiet sprawl of brush and rock. The air shimmered gold. You stepped out without waiting.

Hands on your hips, you stared out into the valley. The wind tugged at your clothes. You didn't need to see him to know Zayne had followed. He always followed.

"This isn't about you." You said. Zayne didn't answer. "I made that call. I opened that door. I didn't do it because I felt reckless or because I needed someone's permission. I did it because I wear the uniform, just like you. Because that's what we sign up for." You turned slightly toward him. "I weighed the risk. I saved a life. And now I'll answer for it. That's how it works."

Zayne's jaw clenched, hands tucked beneath his arms like he was trying to hold himself still.

"You don't get to own this like it's some failure on your part." You continued. "You didn't stop me because you knew what I knew. That there wasn't time to wait. That hesitation might've meant a body bag instead of a patient. You knew, and you let me choose. That wasn't cowardice. That was trust."

His throat worked around silence. "I'll take the consequence." You said. "Because it was mine. That's the weight of command. We make decisions. And we live with what comes after whether it's punishment or praise." You met his eyes then. Steady. Measured. "I don't regret it. Not even a little."

Zayne looked away, eyes scanning the empty stretch of horizon like it might offer something simpler. You let out a slow breath. Not to soften the moment, just to stay upright through it.

A beat passed before he turned and headed back toward the truck. He didn’t say a word. Just opened the door, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine. The sound echoed in the quiet.

He didn't tell you to get in. And you didn't move. The truck rolled away, kicking up a low plume of dust that drifted into the wind like smoke from a fire already put out.

You stood there long after it faded, arms loose at your sides, the ache still settling into your chest. You had done the right thing. But doing the right thing doesn't always mean you walk away clean.

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The dust had long since settled.

You nudged a stone with the toe of your boot, watching it skip down the slope before disappearing into the heat hazed horizon. The sun was still ruthless overhead, baking the road ahead until it rippled. You kept walking, hands in your pockets, steps steady. One boot after the other. Skin warm, throat dry, pride dented but intact.

There was something morbidly poetic about hiking back to base on foot, alone after getting left behind by a man who had never officially been yours.

You sighed, pulled out your phone, and scrolled through your contacts. Found her name. Leanne. The line picked up after two rings.

"Didn't think you'd call so soon." She said, immediately. "What happened? Did the president finally figure out you're a one-person HR violation?" You smirked, despite yourself. "It's really touching, the way you care." "I try."

You adjusted the weight of your pack. "HQ gave their ruling. I'm not grounded." "That's something." She replied, cautious. "But." "But you're docked three months pay and benched for the promo exam." You raised a brow. "How'd you know?"

"Because I know how these people think. And because I would’ve handed down the same sentence." You both said it at the same time, deadpan. "Could've been worse." A dry laugh slipped out. "They’re calling it lenient." You said. "It is. You dragged the President into a field stunt halfway across Uruk. You're lucky you didn't get court martialed on live broadcast." "Would’ve been my best angle." "Please stop."

You tilted your head back, sky too blue and too big above you. "Zayne came. Said he wanted to talk to the board. I stopped him before he could." Leanne didn't respond right away. "Soooo, you argued." "We... Had words. Loud ones. He's still stuck on blaming himself. I told him to knock it off." "Did he listen?" You kicked another pebble. "He drove off without me, so. Probably not."

A beat of silence. "You alright?" She asked, voice gentler now. You hesitated. "I will be." Leanne didn't push. She never did. She just let it land. You walked another few steps before speaking again. "Saw Caleb earlier." That earned a short snort. "Yeah?" "Yeah. He looked like someone just took out his central nervous system."

"He'll live." "You really ghosted him at the airport." "That was the plan." "You know he’s still waiting." "He's not." Leanne said, a little too fast. You smiled faintly. "Sure. And I'm a quiet, emotionally available introvert." She sighed. "You're impossible." "And yet." You drawled. "You still answer my calls." "Regretting it already."

You glanced up the road. "You feel like doing me a favor?" "No." She said instantly. "I'm literally on foot. In Uruk. In full gear. After nearly getting court martialed for saving someone's life. That deserves, like, a pickup. Or a smoothie." "You'll get neither." "I'm going to die of dehydration." "Good. Consider it penance."

You put on your best mock-hurt voice. "You're really not coming?" "I'm in another country, genius." You paused. "… Is that a no?" "It's a 'walk it off, soldier.'" And with that, she hung up. You stared at your comms, blinking. Then muttered. "Cold." The wind didn't disagree.

You kept walking. The road stretched ahead in quiet defiance, the heat rising off it like memory. Every step was ache and dust and consequence. But still, your boots didn’t feel quite so heavy now. Somewhere ahead, the base waited. And maybe, just maybe, so did the rest of what came next.

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The kitchen was dim, half forgotten filled with that late night hush that settled over the base once the lights went out and the day had finally lost its grip. You stepped in without turning on the lights, the door sighing shut behind you. Your uniform clung stiffly to your skin, still smelling faintly of sun and dust.

No need for light. You knew this kitchen by feel now. Where the cabinets stuck, which drawers creaked, which shelf Leanne always forgot she used.

It took a minute of fumbling and a few quiet curses, but eventually your fingers landed on it. A bottle of wine, tucked behind a box of dehydrated rations. Leanne's. Probably weeks old. Forgotten. You held it up to the faint silver light coming through the window. There was something victorious in the way you smiled at it.

You were just about to twist the cap when a voice, low and familiar, spoke behind you. "You know that's a violation of military code." You stilled mid movement, fingers on the cap, spine instinctively straightening like you’d been caught sneaking contraband in the middle of a school hallway.

You turned slowly. Zayne stood in the doorway, sleeves pushed to his elbows, face half shadowed. He wasn't smiling, not really. Just watching, with that usual unreadable calm. Not judging but not pretending he hadn't seen, either. You slipped the bottle behind your back. "Define violation."

He didn't answer. Just walked in like he belonged there, opening a cabinet as if this were a routine midnight water run. "Rummaging through other people’s forgotten alcohol." He said. "Feels like a red flag." "No one labeled it." You replied, watching him. "Leanne forgot it. I'm rescuing it." "For the planet?" "Exactly. I'm an environmentalist." He glanced over his shoulder. "Command should pin you for service." You wordlessly held out the bottle.

He looked at it, then at you. "We're sharing now?" "Only because I'm feeling generous." He took it, twisted the cap without flair, and drank straight from the bottle. You blink. "You're a doctor." He handed it back. "You're in uniform. Midnight. Looking like you just wrestled a bear through a swamp." "Two miles of sand." You muttered, accepting the bottle but not drinking.

He reached for a glass instead. Water, not wine. Rinsed it, filled it, leaned beside you, hip resting against the counter. Quiet again. "You're not drinking." He said eventually. "Technically, I'm not supposed to." "But you were going to." "Until someone decided to stand in the doorway and ruin it."

Zayne raised an eyebrow but said nothing. You tilted your head toward him. "That was your cue to apologize." He looked away. You caught the twitch of his mouth before he did. "I wanted to say sorry." He said, voice lower now. You blinked, attention shifting. "Don't. It’s fine." "It wasn't."

You leaned back against the counter. "You didn't yell. Didn't call me reckless. Didn’t run to Command. That's practically affectionate by your standards." His jaw moved once, barely a tick. "I shouldn't have driven off." You gave a tired smile. "I needed the walk." "You're deflecting." "You're dramatic."

This time, he looked at you properly. Eyes steady. Quiet. "You could've gotten hurt." "I didn't." "That's not the point." "Then what is?" Zayne didn't answer. His mouth opened, then closed. You didn't fill the silence. Just waited.

When he still said nothing, you stepped closer, not touching, but close enough to share air. Close enough to be undeniable. "Zayne." He looked at you. You held his gaze. "You ever going to stop feeling like you owe me something?" He glanced away. "You are." You said. "That's what this is. You still think you owe me."

He didn't confirm it. But he didn't move away either. You looked down at the bottle in your hand. "Do you think about it?" Zayne didn't ask what you meant. Not right away. You looked back up. "This. Us. The almost. The maybe."

His silence deepened. Not angry, just tired. Worn around the edges like something he'd been carrying too long. "You told me once, no, I think it's twince now, that you couldn't take the risk." You said. "Still true?"

He met your eyes, and this time, didn't look away. You stepped in. Kissed him. Not dramatic. Not showy. Just a question in the shape of touch.

At first, he didn't respond. Just inhaled sharply, like you'd caught him off guard. You began to pull back, embarrassed, maybe. Maybe preparing to apologize.

But then- His hand caught your wrist. Gentle. No pressure. And then he kissed you back. Slow. Careful. Like he didn't know how long it would last but he wanted to be sure he didn’t break it.

You melted into it because it had been months of pretending, of walking on glass, of acting like none of it mattered.

Then he was the one who pulled away.

You watched him. "That didn't feel like someone who's sure." You said quietly. Zayne's breath came slow. "It's not about being sure." "Then what is it?" He was quiet for a long moment. Then. "It's about not wanting to lose what's left." Your throat tightened. "Is there even something left?"

He searched your face. But this time, he didn't give you an answer. Just that silence again. Heavy. Unspoken. The soft ache of almost. Then he stepped back. You let him.

Neither of you said anything else as he set the wine bottle on the counter and walked out. You stared at it for a long moment. Still half full. Still waiting. Like the rest of you.

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It started with Zayne showing up at your office door, hands in his pockets, like he'd taken a wrong turn and decided to commit to it.

"Eat with me." He said, voice level. Casual. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. You looked up from your desk, brow raised. "That a command now?" He shrugged, already half turned back toward the door. "Call it a prescription." "For what?" You asked, standing. He didn't miss a beat. "Malnutrition. You skipped breakfast." You followed, because he wasn't wrong.

The drive into the city was uneventful. Just thirty quiet minutes past the checkpoint, through sun glared dust and sand swept roads. You didn't talk much. You didn't have to. The silence between you had changed, less brittle now. Not healed, but calmer. Like neither of you wanted to pick at the scab anymore.

Zayne let you choose the restaurant. Which, in hindsight, was a tactical error. You realized it the moment the waiter came into view. "Oh no." You muttered, half hiding behind the menu. Zayne glanced up from his seat across from you. "Problem?" You nodded discreetly at the man setting down plates two tables away. "I… may have had a thing with him."

Zayne didn't blink. "Define 'thing.'" "I thought I liked the hummus." You whispered. "Turns out I was just emotionally displaced." A ghost of amusement passed across his mouth. You leaned in, accusing. "This is Leanne's fault." He tilted his head. "How?"

"She dragged me here. Raved about the lamb skewers. Said they changed her life. I told her she needed higher standards. She told me I needed to get laid." He paused, arching a brow. "And?" "…I proved her point." "I see." "Don't take her side." "I did't say anything." You narrowed your eyes. "You're definitely taking her side." "I'm literally just sitting here."

You hissed as the waiter turned in your direction. "Abort mission. He's coming over. You order. And don't flirt." Zayne gave you a look. "I wasn't planning to." "Don't give him hope." "He has a name, you know." Your jaw dropped. "You learned his name?" "I'm observant." "You traitor."

The waiter approached, professional and thank God, efficient. You both ordered without incident. You asked for the hummus again, mostly out of stubborn pride. By the time the food arrived, the air had settled into something less mortifying. You sat under the shaded awning, tearing bread in small pieces, chewing slowly, still feeling vaguely exposed.

Zayne spoke after a while, voice quieter than usual. "Why'd you become a soldier?" You looked up, surprised. "Wow. Going straight for the soft underbelly, huh?" He didn't reply, just waited. You offered a lopsided smile. "Because Leanne did." His silence said try again.

You sighed, reaching for your drink. "Fine. It made sense, I guess. I didn’t know where else to go. I liked rules. I liked being told where to be, what to wear, when to eat. I liked feeling useful. I liked disappearing into something bigger than me." You paused, watching him He nodded, just once, like he understood something you hadn't said.

"You always this honest?" He asked. "Only when I'm dehydrated and emotionally compromised." That almost made him smile. You took another bite. Chewed slowly. Then, without looking at him. "Do you think everything would've been easier if I wasn't a soldier?"

His eyes lifted to yours. "If none of this had happened." You clarified. "If we'd met somewhere else. Been different people." He didn't answer right away. He never did. His thumb traced the edge of his glass, slow and absent. "You think easier means better?" He asked. You blinked. "I think… simpler might've hurt less." "Maybe." He said. "But I wouldn't have met you."

You didn't say anything. Couldn't. The words sat heavy in your throat, soft and sharp all at once. He hadn't said it like it was a confession. Just a fact. Quiet. Unshakable.

So instead, you slid your foot forward under the table, let it brush lightly against his. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t draw away. Didn't smile, either. But he shifted. Just enough for his knee to rest back against yours. Just slightly. And that, somehow, said more than anything else could've.

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You're the first one out, the heat wrapping around you like it’s got something to prove. It clings to your uniform, sweat already gathering beneath your collar, dust curling up at your boots with every step. The street hums, honking scooters, stray dogs, vendors shouting over each other for a sale. You keep your head down, squinting toward the car.

Then a voice stops you mid stride. "Didn't think I'd see you here." You freeze. Turn. And everything stills.

Astra leans against a parked motorbike like he owns the street. Same height, same shoulders, same ridiculous smirk tucked behind new lines on his face. His uniform's stripped of everything official civilian-coded now, with just enough soldier left in the way he stands. No badge. No rank. Nothing clean.

Just him. And the ghost of what he used to be.

Your mouth tightens. "You know, if you're trying to stay off the radar, maybe change the haircut." He shrugs. "Tried. Got tired of untangling it." You cross your arms, keeping your tone dry, casual, like this isn’t the first time you've looked a ghost in the eye and kept breathing. "Last I heard, you were half a click from a court-martial." He gestures lazily to the street, the heat, the world. "And yet. Here we are."

Your jaw flexes. "Was it you?" He doesn't ask what you mean. Just stills. You press on. "The fake UN truck." He watches you for a beat too long. "You always were good at asking questions." "Not a denial." "Not an answer." The silence pulls taut. He steps forward. "You shouldn't have been there." You tilt your head. "Didn't realize you were still tracking my coordinates."

He doesn't smile. Not really. But his eyes stay on you, searching. Peeling back layers he once knew, trying to find the one who'd covered him under fire without hesitation. "You've changed." He says, low. "No." You answer. "You just stopped looking closely."

That lands. Somewhere behind his expression, something flickers. Hurt or pride, you can't tell. And then you hear the door behind you. Zayne steps out of the restaurant like the timing was rehearsed, composed as ever, sleeves rolled, nothing rushed in his figure. He doesn't call out, doesn't raise his voice. But he sees you. Sees Astra. And Astra sees him.

His jaw ticks. "Still picking lost causes?" You almost laugh. "He's not a lost cause. Also, better than becoming one." That earns a short, brittle chuckle. He steps back, hands raised like he's already bored of the whole scene. "See you around, soldier." "Preferably not."

He's gone before you finish the breath. Swallowed by the crowd. Zayne joins you in silence. His gaze lingers on the space Astra left behind.

"Friend?" He asks, voice even. "Field comrade." You say, with a practiced shrug. "The dramatic kind. Likes sudden reappearances. Probably journals about it." Zayne doesn't respond. Just clicks the car unlocked and waits.

You slide into the passenger seat, buckle up. The door shuts with a quiet finality. Outside, the city continues in all its noise and heat, but inside the car, it's still. He starts the engine.

You glance out the window, the tension a quiet hum between you now. Zayne doesn't look over. "Something wrong?" "Nope." You smile, light, almost breezy. "Just remembering I have a face that attracts unstable men." This time, he glances at you. "You're not wrong." You fake a gasp. "Rude." He doesn't deny it. But the corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly.

You let out a breath. One you hadn't realized you were holding. The past fades in the rearview mirror reduced to heat shimmer and sand, for now. And ahead of you, somewhere not quite close and not far enough, is whatever comes next. But for now, the road is quiet. The company is solid. And that’s enough.

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Back at the base, the sun had already begun to dip, smearing burnt orange and rust across the sky like it knew the weight of what hadn’t been said. The heat clung stubbornly to the cement, slow to let go even as the light started to fade. Around you, the compound murmured with its usual rhyth. Distant footsteps, the low thrum of generators, radios crackling half-in and half out of signal. Familiar noise. Lived in silence.

Your boots kicked up a bit more dust than usual as you walked beside Zayne. Neither of you in a rush. Neither of you speaking, at first.

You stopped by the benches near the comms tent. The old antenna still tilted slightly from last week's windstorm, and the generator hummed just loud enough to make ignoring each other impossible.

He paused next to you, hands buried in his pockets. That same quiet stance he always carried, like the world wasn't pressing in on him. Like he could stand still while everything else moved. He looked more like a man misplaced in a warzone than a surgeon offduty. Civilian softness in a uniform built for edges.

"You're quiet." You said, arms resting behind you on the bench rail. He didn't move. "I'm thinking." You shot him a sidelong glance. "That's dangerous." Then softer, after a beat. "About earlier?"

He didn't answer at first. But the way his jaw shifted, the way he looked away from you but not quite up at the sky. It told you enough.

"I didn't really understand what you do." He said eventually. "Not really. Not until today." You waited. He wasn't the type to speak if it didn't matter. "Even when I was with her." He continued, voice steady but quiet like he was measuring every word, weighing what he could afford to admit. "We didn't talk about the field. Not in any real way. I didn't ask. She didn't explain."

A pause. Then. "But you…" He exhaled, slow. "You let me see it. Not the version we read in reports. Not the clean parts. You showed me the weight." You leaned back, boots scuffing the sand caked concrete. "I only showed you what I'm allowed to. There's still a whole classified mountain I'd have to wipe your memory to talk about."

That earned the faintest breath of a laugh from him. "I believe you." You watched him a moment. The way he was still looking at the sky, like he didn't trust himself to meet your eyes yet. "Would it have changed anything?" You asked. "If she'd told you back then?"

He was quiet for a long beat. Then he turned, finally looking at you, really looking.

"Maybe." He said. "But I don't think I was the kind of person who could've understood it then. I was too... safe. Too outside it all." "And now?" "I'm trying to be better." He said simply. You nodded once. You believed that more than any apology.

"It's not just about orders out there." You said. "It's instinct. Gut calls. You don't have time to explain your reasons when someone's bleeding out or a convoy's going to explode in thirty seconds. People think we're reckless, but we’re not. We're trained to choose. Fast. Without asking." Zayne's brows drew in, thoughtful. "And if you choose wrong?"

"Then someone else lives with the consequence. Or I do." You offered a half shrug. "I accepted mine two days ago, remember?" He gave you a look, flat. "Three months pay docked and a hold on your promotion exam. You made it sound like you spilled coffee on the wrong report." "It is casual." You said, grinning faintly. "Compared to what could've happened."

He didn't smile. But something in his posture shifted. He wasn't bracing anymore, not against you, not against what you came from. There was no resistance now. Just quiet recognition.

"MC was strong." He said suddenly. The name dropped like a stone. You blinked. That was the first time he'd said her name around you. "But you..." He hesitated, then let the words fall. "You're something else." You huffed a dry laugh. "Not sure that’s a compliment." "It is." He said, without looking away.

The air between you felt thinner now. Not tense, just clearer. Like something long unsaid had finally been acknowledged, even if nothing else changed.

"I don't want to be someone who makes you choose between who you are and what you do." He said. His voice was low but steady. "I think that's what broke things before. I asked without realizing it. She left without saying it."

You didn't respond right away. Didn't need to. The words hovered, unclaimed but understood. "I think you're learning." You said, eventually. "But don't get all soft on me yet. You still left me on the side of the road, remember?" His mouth twitched. "I can explain-" "Too late." You cut in, deadpan. "I've already filed the incident report. Your penance is sleep. Eight hours. No breaks."

He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth curved up. The Zayne kind of smile, brief, small, real.

This wasn't closure. Not really. But it wasn't avoidance either. It was something quieter. Something that might stay this time. And as the sun dipped lower and the orange turned to rose, you sat there beside him, watching the last light bleed across the sky. Still soldier and doctor. Still separate. But not quite strangers anymore.

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The office was quiet, too quiet, really, except for the soft churn of the AC and the reluctant sound of a stapler refusing to cooperate with two overstuffed reports. You muttered something unrepeatable under your breath as you tried again, fighting a battle you were clearly losing.

Zayne leaned against the edge of the chair opposite your desk, long legs stretched out like he had nowhere better to be. His cup of something sugary steamed lazily in his hand, a ridiculous contrast to the expression on his face. Serious, focused, like the fate of the free world depended on that drink.

"If you keep showing up like this." You said without looking up. "People are going to start thinking you like me." "I'm just here for the coffee." Zayne replied, lifting the cup in mock salute. "Your department's blend tastes like it was brewed in a boot, so naturally, I'm addicted."

You raised an eyebrow, deadpan. "So this is a caffeine transaction. I feel cheap." "You are. And so is the coffee." You placed a hand on your chest, mock offended. "Doctor Zayne. Was that... was that actual banter?" "I've been exposed to you for too long. The symptoms are showing."

You leaned your chin on your hand, eyes narrowing. "You know, if you did like me, you've got a really confusing way of showing it." "I don't." He said flatly but there was the faintest flicker of something behind it. Familiar. Honest, maybe. But not whole. You smirked anyway. "You're no fun." "And you flirt like it's an Olympic qualifier."

You were just opening your mouth to respond something wildly inappropriate for a military workplace when the door creaked open.

"Interrupting something?" Caleb's voice was pure polite amusement. Which meant, of course, that he absolutely intended to interrupt.

He stepped in like he owned the damn building, sleeves rolled, cap tucked under his arm, eyes gleaming with that smug confidence you used to think was annoying. Now it was just a warning sign.

You blinked at him. "Caleb? What the hell are you doing here?" "I'm here." He said smoothly, giving Zayne a look. "To marry you." Zayne turned to you slowly, face unreadable in that way that made your stomach drop. You knew that silence. You hated that silence.

You didn't miss a beat. "This is why no one laughs at your jokes." Zayne set his cup down with a quiet click. "I'll let you two write your vows." He murmured, already halfway to the door. "You'll be on the guest list." Caleb called after him, tone far too casual. Zayne paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll bring vodka." "Good. You'll need it."

The door clicked shut, a little harder than necessary. You let out a long breath and dragged a hand down your face. "God. I feel like I just watched a nature documentary on alpha male posturing." Caleb slid into Zayne's abandoned seat, clearly proud of himself. "He always that twitchy around you?"

"Do you practice being irritating or does it just happen naturally?" He grinned. "Bit of both. Keeps me young." You eyed him. "Seriously. What are you doing here? You're too clean to be field ready."

He shrugged, like he hadn't just tossed a grenade into your afternoon. "HQ needed a report signed. Figured I'd drop in. And…" His voice dipped, rare hesitation creeping in. "I haven't talked to her in a week." You stilled. "Leanne?"

"She's not picking up my calls." He said, scratching at his jaw. "Can't tell if she's angry or just… being Leanne." "Why not both?" You murmured. He gave a crooked smile. "You think she's okay?" "She's Leanne. She could walk through a war zone barefoot and still come out with less dust than I get from the printer tray."

He didn't respond, just looked down at his hands. So you reached for your phone. "Don't." He said, already sensing it. You were dialing. "Too late." "She's going to kill me." "That's a you problem." "Let's not make this weirder than it already is-" "Hey, Lee." You said cheerfully when she answered. "Guess who dropped by?" Pause. "No, not Zayne. The other emotionally repressed man in uniform."

Caleb groaned, tilting his head back against the wall like he could disappear into it. You nodded as Leanne responded. "Yeah. That's the one. He looks like someone kicked his dog. You might want to call him before he files a missing persons report or proposes again." You hung up before she could yell.

Caleb stared at you like you were a particularly difficult math problem. "You're evil." You beamed. "And yet, here you are. Drawn like a moth to my moral collapse." He shook his head, but you didn't miss the smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. After a pause, he leaned forward slightly. "You hear the update yet? About your re-enlistment?"

You frowned. "Yeah. Callback's sooner than planned. What about it?" "Your orders moved up. Three weeks early. General signed it personally." Your stomach did a small, tight flip. "Figured. He always did have bad timing." Caleb studied you. "He says you're 'strategically invaluable.' Personally, I think he just enjoys the way you insult people with three syllable vocabulary." "Don't lie. You missed me." He deadpanned. "Absolutely not."

You eyed him sideways. "Bet he pulled the strings because of my dad." Caleb's voice softened. "Retiring soon, right?" "Next week. Already has a plaque picked out and everything." "You going?" "Front row. He asked. No way out." He looked at you carefully, almost too carefully. "Is he proud?"

"I think so." You said after a beat. "He doesn't say it. Just... shakes my hand too long and gives me crap about my posture." Caleb's voice lowered. "You ever think about stepping back? After he retires?" You actually considered the question. "Sometimes. But I'm not great at being still." He gave a low chuckle. "You'd incite a coup within a month."

You shrugged. "Probably. But sometimes I wonder who I'd be without the field." He nodded slowly. "Still loud. Still impossible." "But charming." "You keep telling yourself that."

Just then, your phone buzzed. Leanne. You raised a brow at Caleb. He looked genuinely nervous. "Please don't." You answered anyway. "Hey, Lee. Just wanted to let you know he’s still here. And still pouting." Caleb lunged. You darted back, laughing loud, easy, like something in you finally loosened.

Outside, the desert simmered with heat and sand and silence. But inside the room, with mismatched coffee cups and two too familiar idiots, it felt, for once, almost like home.

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It was the second to last night.

Your duffel bag lay open on the cot, half packed like a conversation that lost momentum halfway through. A folded uniform, your knife, your worn out badge with the clip hanging on by a thread like it belonged to someone else. Someone who hadn't learned yet that endings don't make noise. They just... Arrive. Quietly.

You weren't asleep. You had killed the hallway light hours ago, told yourself you’d get some rest. But your boots were still on. Your bag wasn't zipped. And your mind was still back in the infirmary. Where Zayne had spent the day pretending to be too occupied to notice anything.

He hadn't been frantic. Or overwhelmed. Just methodically unreachable.

You tried. Twice outside the clinic. Once near the mess hall. Each time, hoping he'd glance up, say your name, offer one of those quiet looks that only meant something because he never gave them away for free. But he didn't. And you hadn't stopped.

Now you sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on your knees, the last of the day's heat clinging faintly to your skin. One earbud was tucked in, wired into the battered comm unit clipped to your vest pocket.

Channel 7. Med frequency.

You told yourself it was habit. Just something to fall asleep to. But that was a lie. You were listening for him.

Zayne's voice came through rarely, and only when it had to. But you knew it instantly. The clipped tone. The way his voice dipped slightly when he was tired. That subtle, distracted lilt like his mind was somewhere two steps ahead, trying not to be here at all.

You'd memorized that voice. The way you memorize pain.

Tonight, you were lucky. Twice already, he'd spoken. "... Check her levels again before 0400. I’ll follow up at shift change." He didn't say your name. Of course he didn't. You weren't on rotation. You weren't part of anything. Still, you leaned back against the head board, head tilted until your neck ached. Listening. Like it mattered. Because maybe it did.

You had two days left in Uruk. Less, if you were being exact. Your redeployment orders were already signed. A flight manifest, a seat number, no ceremony. No goodbye. Just... gone.

You wanted to tell him. Not for drama. Not even for closure. Just because. Because it felt wrong to vanish without giving him one last chance. One last opening.

But Zayne had kept busy. Not with anything urgent, just small tasks, low priority files, low stakes conversations. Enough to stay occupied. Enough to stay just out of reach.

You saw him earlier. Alone. Bent over his tablet with a pen in one hand and a mug in the other. Calm. Not tense. Not conflicted. Just... focused. It was that calm that gutted you.

You paused outside the clinic door, like maybe, maybe he'd feel you there. Like his body would recognize the space between you before his mind did.

He didn't look up. You didn't knock. Instead, you walked. Past the clinic. Past the checkpoint. Along paths that had once been routine and now felt like echoes. A kid kicked a ball against the fence. Someone from recon gave you a piece of candy. You pocketed it. Said thanks. Didn't stop.

Now, it was unwrapped in your palm. Too sweet. Artificial. Sticky against your skin. You let it melt on your tongue anyway.

A crackle came through your comm. Then a voice, female, fatigued. You recognized her from the med team. "I'm covering Fielding's shift. Think Dr. Zayne's pulling another all nighter?" "Probably." "He's been off lately." A pause. "Think he's okay?" You held still. Waited. "He's just in his head." Someone said. "He gets like that."

Then came his voice again, steady. Distant. "I'm on comms if anything changes. Don't wake me unless it’s urgent." You closed your eyes. You wouldn't wake him. You never did.

There were things you wanted to say. Stupid, small things. I'm leaving. You could've said something. I might've stayed. But you said none of them. Instead, you let the night fill the space around you. Heavy. Soft. Final. Not cruel, exactly. Just absolute.

You didn't cry. You didn't barge in. You didn't write some half baked goodbye. You just sat there. Letting his voice fade into static. Letting the candy dissolve into nothing. And outside, the desert held its breath with you. Because time was running out. And deep down, you knew. He wasn't going to ask you to stay.

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Zayne hadn't planned to stop by the mess hall.

There was a backlog of chart updates waiting for him at the clinic, and a headache building steadily behind his eyes from squinting at poorly formatted scan logs. The evening air carried that dry, uneasy weight Uruk sometimes held before a storm, quiet, suspended. He'd meant to keep his head down. Walk straight past. Go back to the silence.

But just outside the mess, he heard it the music, laughter, a burst of voices that didn't match the usual end of shift fatigue. He slowed without meaning to.

Someone had dragged the long tables into a loose ring. Folding chairs leaned unevenly around paper plates and half-spilled cups. A cake sat off-center on a tray, the frosting melting a little in the heat. The name written across it was crooked, but unmistakable.

Your callsign.

Zayne blinked. Someone nudged someone else, raising a cup. "Hell of a captain." "They shipping out tomorrow?" "Afternoon. Civilian transport. No fanfare." A snort of laughter. "Nothing about them was ever quiet." That earned a louder laugh. Someone offered a toast with lukewarm juice. A medic flicked a flashlight off their boot with exaggerated flair.

And Zayne just stood there. He didn't move. Didn't step forward. Didn't step away. He hadn't known. Not a whisper. Not a heads up. Not even a change in your voice earlier today. You were leaving. Tomorrow. And you hadn't told him.

His fingers twitched at his side, but he didn't unclench them. It wasn't anger, not exactly. Just something slower. Heavier. A kind of pressure blooming in his chest like altitude sickness. The sort of feeling that didn't know where to go.

A familiar voice, one of the nurses, noticed him lingering. "Dr. Li. You coming in?" He gave a single nod, curt. Mechanical. The kind that didn't invite a second question. Then he turned, already walking.

It wasn't until he was halfway across the compound, back in the quiet, that the comms in his ear gave a soft crackle "Anyone in line? Did anyone see Dr. Li around?"Your voice. Measured. Steady.

But something about it. It didn't sound like protocol. It sounded like maybe you hadn't expected anyone to answer. His fingers brushed the transmitter. "I'm here." The words came out low. Flattened. "We need to talk." Static lingered. No immediate reply.

For a moment, he wondered if you'd already turned the channel off. But then. "Where are you? I'm coming over." He stopped walking.

The clinic stood a few buildings ahead, its lights muted, its windows dark. Beyond it, the desert stretched out to the horizon, featureless and familiar. Same sky. Same dust. Same edge of nowhere stillness that had greeted you both the day you arrived.

He remembered how you looked this week like you hadn't unpacked on purpose. Like you already knew this place wasn't yours to keep. And maybe you had known. But he hadn't.

He hadn't known it would feel like this. Watching the end come sideways. Not with an argument. Not with a goodbye. Just a celebration he wasn't part of, a departure made quietly, and a space in him that had only just started to realize what it meant.

He exhaled through his nose. The breath caught anyway. It wasn't that he didn't care. It was that he didn't know what to do with caring. Didn't know how to say anything without saying too much. Didn't know what was allowed, or what would even matter now.

So instead, Zayne turned toward the clinic. Back to the one place that never asked him to feel anything. You were leaving. And he still hadn't figured out how to stop pretending that didn't matter.

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"You stayed."

He didn't hear you approach, not at first. He was staring at the wall, the shadow his body cast under the faint buzz of the medi-cube emergency floodlight. It wavered slightly in the desert breeze. Or maybe that was him. Maybe he was the one wavering.

You stopped a few feet away, not crossing the invisible line between you. But he felt you. Your presence had always been like that, chaotic but calm, unmistakable.

"You're leaving tomorrow." He said. No greeting. No preamble. You turned your head toward him. Not all the way. Just enough. "I am." His jaw tightened. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I meant to." 'You meant to." He echoed. "But you didn't." "I didn't know how."

"You tell everyone everything." He said and it wasn't quite anger but close. "You talk your way through chaos like it's foreplay. You flirt with half the corps and make it look like breathing. But when it’s something real. Something that actually matters, you go silent?" You folded your arms across your chest. Not defensive. Just… bracing.

"I didn't want to make a scene." "You didn't even give me a moment." "I'm giving it now." You said, quietly. Zayne stepped forward, just one step. Just enough to make the air between you shift. "You had a dozen chances." He said. "Every time we passed in the hall. Every time I caught you pretending not to wait outside the clinic. You had time." "I was trying to figure out what to say." He looked at you like you'd broken something sacred. "You didn't think I'd care?"

"I thought if you did." You said, voice barely above the hum of the generators. "You would've said something after the kitchen." He stilled. Ah. There it was. That silence. That weight. You took a breath. "I kissed you." You said. "You didn't stop me." "... Why are you bringing that up now?"

"So what do I do with that?" You asked and this time your voice cracked, just a little. "Do I apologize for crossing a line? Or do I tell you I was in love with you and hope you don't flinch?" Zayne looked at you, then, really looked. And his voice, when it came, was soft. Tired. Careful. "You don't owe me an apology."

You blinked, and it stung more than you thought it would. "I meant it." You said. "The kiss." "I know." There was a beat. A second breath between you. It didn't help.

"You are…" He started, then stopped. Shook his head. "You're impossible. You make everything feel like a dare. You flirt like you’re trying to get punched, or kissed or both. And when you care, you bury it so deep I almost missed it." Your chest ached.

"But you also." He went on, quieter now. "Make people feel like they matter. You walk into a room and it’s not the same after. You drive me insane. But when you're not there, I notice." You looked away, jaw clenched against the warmth behind your eyes.

"But you're always moving." He said. "And I can't keep doing this, wondering if the next time I blink, you'll be gone." You looked back at him then, slowly. "So don't." "What?" "Don't keep doing it. I'm not asking you to." You swallowed. "I just… I wanted to tell you before I left. That it wasn’t nothing. That I don't regret it. That I-" You cut yourself off. Bit it back.

You shook your head. "I'm sorry for the kiss." You said instead. "Even if I meant it. Even if some part of me hoped something when you kissed me back." Zayne didn't respond right away. And that was your answer, wasn't it?

You blinked once. Twice. Let the tears stay where they were. Unfallen.

"I hope." You said finally. "You find someone who doesn't leave. Someone who makes you feel steady. Safe." Your voice didn't shake now. But your hands did. "Take care of yourself, Zayne." You turned to go. But just as you stepped away, he reached into his pocket.

"I was going to give this back earlier." He said, almost under his breath. You turned slightly. He stepped forward not close, just enough to hold something out in his open palm. The rock. From the shipwreck. The one you gave him. Half joking. Half sincere. "I didn't really know why I kept it." He said. "But it didn't feel right to hold onto it."

You looked down at it. A pause stretched between you, quiet and unsaid. Then, slowly, you reached out and took it. Your fingers brushed his. "Thank you." You said. He nodded once. Tight. Like it cost something.

You waited, half a heartbeat just long enough to hear if he'd say anything else. He didn't. So you walked. And this time, it was the last.

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Zayne hadn't slept. He told himself he'd just needed air. A walk. Something to clear his head.

But he never left the base perimeter. Just circled it, twice around the medi-cube, once past the gate. Pacing like something might shift if he just moved enough. He kept catching phantom flashes of you in the dark, your silhouette against the prefab walls, the way you tilted your head when you were trying not to smile. That soft, maddening way you used to say his name. Like it meant nothing. Like it meant everything.

You'd said sorry last night. Quiet. Honest. Like it was the only thing you still knew how to give. He could've said don't go. He should've. But the words caught behind his teeth and stayed there, stubborn and scared, just like him.

And now it was morning. He stepped into the admin tent just after sunrise. Not because he had work. Not because he needed to. But maybe you'd be there. Sitting on someone’s desk with your boots half laced, flicking your pen at a clipboard, cracking some nonsense joke before the heat set in.

You weren't. Instead, a logistics guy glanced up from the pile of reports. One of the newer ones, young enough to still smile. "Looking for someone doc?" The soldier asked. Zayne cleared his throat. "Captain-" He hesitated. "Were they briefed for departure yet?" The soldier frowned, flipping through a supply. "Oh. Captain? They left last night."

Zayne stilled. "…What?" "Late gear convoy. Quiet ride out. Said they preferred it that way." Zayne didn't answer. His pulse missed something. The inside of his chest flickered, hot, then cold. "They left past midnight?" He asked, even though he already knew what it meant. "Yeah. Packed light."

Zayne stepped back before the rest could register. Out into the already rising heat, into the kind of morning where everything felt bleached and unreal. The air hadn't moved, but he did. Away from the tent, from the soldier, from the words still buzzing in his ears.

You left. You left. And he didn't even see you go.

He stared across the dust blown lot, like maybe you were still here, still leaning against some truck, still stalling, still... But you weren't. And the weight in his ribs sharpened. Twisted.

He should've said something. He should've given you something to stay for. But he didn't.

Because that was the protocol, wasn’t it? Hold the line. Say less. Stay still. Keep your chest clear. Count the beats. And now, he was still counting.

He laughed, then. Just once. A dry sound that scraped out of his throat and hit the dirt like a dropped match. "Heartless." He said.

He didn't mean it. You weren't heartless. Not even close. You cared with everything. That was the problem. You gave too much. You burned too bright. You made people feel like they mattered and then you disappeared before they could ask why that mattered so much.

And maybe you didn't mean to hurt him. But you did. You left, and he didn't know if it was to spare him or to spare yourself. He didn't know if you were protecting something or just done trying.

He only knew the ache that settled into his chest didn't feel like nothing. It felt like a loss. And maybe that meant he had liked you. Maybe more than liked. He had never said it out loud. Never even let himself name it. But now? Now it was the only thing left echoing in the space you used to stand.

And then just before he turned away, he remembered something. He reached into his pocket, a habit, and froze. The rock wasn't there.

The small, sea worn stone you'd given him on that ridiculous field trip to the wreckage, he had carried it since. Quietly. Always. But last night, he gave it back to you. Held it out and watched you take it with a look in your eyes that said you knew what it meant, even if he never said it out loud.

Now the pocket was empty. But the weight of what wasn't there remained.

And Zayne who didn't let people close, who measured emotions like dosages. Stood in the dust with his hands empty and a silence that stretched like punishment.

Because maybe you'd waited. Maybe you'd looked at him one too many times hoping he'd say something first. Maybe he did care. Maybe it was more than he thought. And maybe, just maybe, he was too slow figuring it out.

And now it was too late. So he turned away. Because that was the protocol now. Keep your chest clear. Count the beats Keep going. Even if one of them left with you.

Taglist: @sylusgirlie7 @jcrml @lazypostfandomer @animegamerfox @gorgeouslee @loreleis-world @sleepisfortheweakpooh @anthrokiaera

:I genuinely thought this was just a 16k fic. I was writing on my note pad and only when I transfer it did I realize I have written a 23k+ words fic. I went crazy like wtf. You should have seen me crying writing that second to the last scene but I definitely cried more editing this because my tumblr is lagging.

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