Starts with a Match

If You Wanted Me Dead, Why Didn't You Say So?

"Remind me again how you roped me into doing yoga?" And how I ended up carrying your gym bag, Toby? Not that I'll complain about that. Or the hand that keeps running against mine as we walk back to the truck.

"Last night in the Uber home, you challenged me to a staring contest."

"Uh huh."

"We were both very drunk."

"Sounds right."

"And we both kept losing."

"Mmmkay."

"So instead, I bet that I could beat you at rock-paper-scissors. You said if I could, you'd do something I'd been wanting to do."

"And if you lost?" I ask. Toby chuckles and sends me a look. "What did you promise then?"

"The fact that you can't remember makes this so much better. So I'm not gonna tell you."

"What!"

"Nope, maybe it'll come to you later."

"Unfair," I grunt, opening their side of the truck.

They wanted to drive us home, stop at Sonic on the way. I wasn't about to refuse an ocean water.

Toby tosses the gym bag into the back seat and hooks their arms over the open driver's side window. "How did you like your first time with yoga?"

"Corpse pose was my favorite."

Toby laughs. "That's cause you nearly fell asleep!"

I drop my cheek next to their shoulder, peering up at them. "Did not."

"You were snoring, Koop—"

"I don't snore, I'm a delicate flower."

"Lotus."

"Whatever." My phone rings, and I lean on the car door as I answer it, playing with a curly strand of Toby's ponytail that had fallen loose. "This is Kooper."

"Hey there, Kevin," says Donovan. I'm frowning instantly. Boy doesn't ever call me Kevin.

"Don, what's wrong?"

"You uh...you on post?"

"Yes, at the gym, why?"

"You alone?"

"No, I'm with Toby." Toby squints and mouths 'what's wrong' and I just shake my head. "Donovan—"

"I'll meet you there, I'm coming to get you. We got a meeting."

"What, now? I'm in civvies."

"Yes, now. Don't matter. I'm five out, wait for me there, okay?"

"What about—what about Toby..." I mutter. Toby leans closer to my ear and phone, and I don't mind that they're watching me rub circles into my sweaty chest.

"Send them home," Donovan whispers.

But...but no. No, I don't...I've only got like two weeks left before I'm back in the field. What kind of fuckery do they still have to go over with us?

I hang up on Don and shove my phone in my pocket, and I thunk my forehead to the side of the car door. Toby runs their hand over my head.

"What is it?" they ask softly. Nothing, Toby, not a damn thing that's important enough to take me away from your fingers in my hair like this or your cheek pressed to the top of my head.

"Donovan's gonna come pick me up. Guess we got a meeting about...something. Dunno. Can you—" I lift and turn my head, catch their nose on mine, my stubble drags over chin, and I get warm breath puffing over my lips. They dart back with wide eyes, and I stretch away from the truck window with my hands on the door. "My—my wallet, can you hand me my wallet from your bag?"

"Sure, Kev," says Toby with a a clearing of their throat. "Keys, too?"

"Yeah. Yeah, go ahead and get home. I'll...be there later. I guess."

"Okay," nods Toby. They pass me my stuff and scratch at their cheek, hairs stuck to their forehead and by their ears with sweat. "You um...still want an ocean water?"

"Yes please."

I watch them drive off. Donovan appears three minutes later. We drive to the meeting in silence, and I keep running my fingers over my lips.

—

"You're not going to the field."

I blink back at sergeant Hockins. She stares me down with a hard-set jaw and harder brown, almost black eyes. "Okay. Where will I be going then?"

"You're going to the border," she replies. My shoulders go limp and I can't manage to straighten them again. "Not the one west of here. You're going to the one over Idaho and Montana."

"Permission to ask why?"

I don't dare try and push her around like Seya or Mellow. Beverly Hockins has a presence to her. She'd knock anyone off the ladder with her words alone. You mess with her and you get the worst jobs in the unit. Which. I think I just did.

"They need assistance controlling PCs from getting further south into the states. Canada is doing their part to keep them away from civilians, but the border on our end is our responsibility, and it's breaking."

"Which parts of the border, ma'am,?" speaks Don.

"Between Nordman, Idaho, and Sweetgrass, Montana. They've already had to resituate the border three times in the last year and a half. Our funding has started to run low on this side, and we're taking desperate measures. It's encroaching on the Blackfeet Indian Reservation." So much for things being okay up there.

"South of that is the Flathead National Forest. Gluts get in there, it'll be impossible to hunt them all down," mutters Donovan.

"And south of that is the Flathead Reservation," I add. I think of Toby. And Kit-Kat. I find my straight spine again. "Who all is going with me? I'll need a good crew, if the soldiers along the border haven't been enough to slow them down."

Hockins nods her head to me, then Don behind me. "You and Torrace here will lead point on a ten-soldier group."

I hold in an incredulous scoff. "All due respect, ma'am, what are twelve soldiers going to do against PCs if the border is breaking?"

She arches a brow. Her hair is so blonde it's nearly white. Add that to her silver complexion, it's like she never goes outside.

Vampire Hockins in the zombie apocalypse. "That's not my question to answer, Kooper. Your orders aren't coming from me."

"Who are they coming from?"

"Classified." Only reason I wouldn't be given that info is if someone higher up was paying to hide it. Seya comes to mind. If he dies, they're coming for me. And vice versa. Kill orders. Happy accidents.

"Where's Sergeant Seya?"

Hockins rolls her shoulders. Wide fucking things, barreled chest. She'd break down doors with a punch alone. Never seen it, but I'd bet money on it. "Julius Seya is on his own mission at the moment."

"Where?"

"Classified," she spits.

I shift my weight foot to foot, thinking of Seya at the ball; hitting dead ends trying to enact a plan to find Taylors. "Has Hannah Medrano been alerted that we won't be there as backup for her? We were meant to help out with her mission."

"Medrano has no mission. She's border patrol, too, in Rustavi."

Great. Hockins squints at me with challenge. 'You got any more questions I won't answer, Kooper?'

"Okay. Well. May I ask when we're leaving?"

Hockins nods and accepts my last question. She goes over to her desk and stacks some papers together, reaching one out to me. She passes another to Donovan. Before I've even looked at mine, I hear Don curse behind me. "You leave tomorrow, 05:00, gentleman. Get packing."