Code Red

jaques

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28/06/2002
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I actually do leave her alone for a while, well, apart from the usual arguments. Does three weeks count as "a while"? I'm not sure anymore.

It's like that entire night never happened. Like the way she collapsed against me, tears soaking into my shirt, didn't crack something wide open between us. Now, we're back to the routine. Cold glances. Sharpened words. The occasional eye-roll when the other says something halfway stupid.

She's walking fine now, no more limp in her step. Which means I'm back to being glued to her side during drills and debriefs. North's bright idea of "reconditioning co-captain synergy."

Today's no different.

"I told you that's not the right tactic! If you have to push forward in that scenario, you wouldn't do it from the damn front!" Nova's voice cuts through the room like a whip, her finger jabbing toward me with military precision.

Her green eyes are burning, cheeks flushed, hair pulled back in a tight braid that somehow still looks like a battle flag. Every inch of her screams defiance.

North's got us running a hostage extraction scenario, something about a five-story embassy, dual entries, a diplomatic VIP. The whole squad is supposed to work together, build strategy, learn to trust one another.

Instead, we're reenacting thermonuclear war. Cold, hot, loud.

"If you don't go through the front," I snap, matching her glare, "then your only option is to breach through the back windows. Those lead into side rooms we haven't cleared. You want to get cornered in a goddamn nursery?"

"Well, if you barrel through the front like some idiot cowboy, you're practically begging to get lit up! Why not just ring the fucking doorbell and yell surprise?!" Her hands slam down on the table, the noise echoing.

"Maybe I would if I thought it'd shut you up," I grit.

"Well, if you—"

"Enough!" North bellows, voice like a gunshot.

Silence falls. Real silence. The kind where you can hear your own blood pumping.

North looks like he's about to burst a vessel, one hand massaging his temple as his other points at both of us like we're two dogs caught ripping up the same shoe.

"I've fucking had it up to here with the pair of you! Twenty-five and twenty-seven years of age, acting like teenagers! You're meant to be special-ops, fucking Captains at that! How can't the pair of you put your damn differences aside for once?!"

Before he can really rip into us, a high-pitched beep cracks from the radio on his hip. He yanks it up with a muttered curse and listens, his expression flattening as he steps toward the hallway.

"Team-building is over, thank fuck. You two are going to put me in an early grave, I swear to God."

He points his aging, calloused finger at us one last time before stomping out.

The silence that follows is awkward as hell. Tara glances toward Nova and raises her eyebrows, but Nova just shrugs it off like it was nothing. She wanders over to Tara, while I lean against the desk and exhale hard.

Tyrese steps up beside me, his arms folded with his usual good-natured grin.

"You looking forward to the phone calls later?" he asks casually.

The calls home. Once a month. We each get ten minutes. A burner phone passed around the group like a relic, destroyed immediately afterward. One chance to hear a familiar voice, to remember the world beyond this one.