Taylor handed his pen over, and Will circled a spot on the map, before folding it up again, and shoving it in the back pocket of his desert camo pants.
“Well, hell,” he said, “I guess we should start back down, notify the authorities we found their missing aircraft.”
Will looked at him inquiringly, and Taylor nodded. That was the logical thing to do, after all. But he wasn’t happy about it. Three days into their “vacation” they weren’t any closer to bridging the distance yawning between them — and it would be a long time before they had this kind of opportunity again. By then it might be too late. Whereas this plane had been sitting here for over four months; would another four days really make a difference?
“Right. We’ll rest up tonight and head back tomorrow then,” Will added, after a moment.
Taylor directed a narrow look his way, but the truth was he was fatigued, and climbing in the dark would have been stupid even if he wasn’t. So he nodded again, curtly, and tossed the notebook and diagram back into his pack.
* * * * *
Will was tired. Pleasantly tired. Taylor was exhausted. Not that he’d admit it, but Will could tell by the way he dropped down by the campfire while Will finished pitching their two-man tent.
One eye on Taylor, Will stowed their sleeping bags inside the Eureka Apex XT. He pulled Taylor’s Therm-a-Rest sleeping pad out of his own backpack where he’d managed to stash it that morning without Taylor noticing, and spread it out on the floor of the tent. He opened the valve and left the pad inflating while he went to join Taylor at the fire.
“Hungry?”
“Always.” Taylor’s grin was wry — and so was Will’s meeting it. Taylor ate like a horse — even in the hospital — although where he put it was anyone’s guess. He was all whippy muscle and fine bones that seemed to be made out of titanium. It was easy to look at him and dismiss him as a threat, but anyone who’d ever tangled with him didn’t make that mistake twice.
He was too thin now, though, which was why Will was carrying about three pounds more food in his pack than they probably needed. He watched Taylor feeding wood into the flames. In the firelight his face was all sharps and angles. His eyes looked almost black with fatigue — they weren’t black, though, they were a kind of burnished green — an indefinable shade of bronze that reminded Will of old armor. Very striking with his black hair — Will’s gaze lingered on Taylor’s hair, on that odd single streak of silver since the shooting.
He didn’t want to think about the shooting. Didn’t want to think about finding Taylor in a dingy storeroom with his shirt and blazer soaked in blood — Taylor struggling for each anguished breath. He still had nightmares about that.
He said, talking himself away from the memory, “Well, monsieur, tonight zee specials are zee beef stroganoff, zee Mexican-style chicken, or zee lasagna with meat sauce.”
“What won’t they freeze-dry next?” Taylor marveled.
“Nothing. You name it, they’ll freeze-dry it. We’ve got Neapolitan ice cream for dessert.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Just like the astronauts eat.”
“We pay astronauts to sit around drinking Tang and eating freeze-dried ice cream?”
“Your tax dollars at work.” Will’s eyes assessed Taylor. “Here.” He shifted, pulled his flask out of his hip pocket, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to Taylor. “Before dinner cocktails.”
“Cheers.” Taylor took a swig and shuddered.
“Hey,” Will protested. “That’s Sam Houston bourbon. You know how hard that it is to find?”
“Yeah, I know. I bought you a bottle for Christmas year before last.”
“That’s right. Then you know just how good this is.”
“Not if you don’t like it.” But Taylor was smiling — which was good to see. Not too many smiles between them since that last night at Will’s house. And he wanted to think about that even less than he wanted to think about Taylor getting shot.
“Son, that bourbon will put hair on your chest,” he said.
“Yeah, well, unlike you I prefer my bears in the woods.”
There was a brief uncomfortable pause while they both remembered a certain naval officer, and then Taylor took another swig and handed the flask back to Will.
“Thanks.”
Will grunted acknowledgment.
He thought about telling Taylor he hadn’t seen Bradley since that god-awful night, but that was liable to make things worse — it would certainly confuse the issue, because regardless of what Taylor believed, the issue had never been Lieutenant Commander David Bradley.
Taylor put a hand to the small of his back, arching a little, wincing — and Will watched him, chewing the inside of his cheek, thinking it over. It was taking a while to get back into sync, that was all. It was just going to take a little time. Sure, Taylor was moody, a little distant, but he still wasn’t 100 percent.
He was getting there, though. Getting there fast — because once Taylor put his mind to a thing, it was as good as done. Usually. When he started back at work he’d be stuck on desk duty for a couple of weeks, maybe even a month or so, but he’d be back in the field before long, and Will was counting the days. He missed Taylor like he’d miss his right arm. Maybe more.
Even now he was afraid — but there was no point thinking like that. They were okay. They just needed time to work through it. And the best way to do that was to leave the past alone.
“Warm enough?” he asked.
Taylor gave him a long, unfriendly look.
“Hey, just asking.” Will rose. “I was going to get a sweater out of my bag for myself.”
Taylor relaxed. “Yeah. Can you grab my fleece vest?”
Will nodded, and passing Taylor, took a swipe at the back of his head, which Taylor neatly ducked.
* * * * *
They had instant black bean soup and the Mexican-style chicken for dinner, and followed
