“I had to send you.” The words came out rough. “You’re the best rescue specialist we have. You were the right choice. But I hated every second of it.”
“Come here.” I pulled her into a hug despite being covered in soot and smelling like smoke. Felt her tremble against me, the professional mask finally cracking now that the emergency was over.
“I could feel your fear through the bond,” she whispered against my chest. “Could feel when you were scared. But you went anyway, and you brought her home.”
“That’s the job.”
“I know. But knowing you’re competent doesn’t make it easier to send you into burning buildings.” She pulled back enough to look at me. “How do you handle this? Watching me coordinate dangerous situations, knowing I could make a call that gets someone hurt?”
“I trust your judgment. Trust that you make good decisions based on the best information available. And I remind myself that you’re an incredible coordinator specifically because you don’t let personal feelings compromise operational safety.”
“That’s what makes you an incredible coordinator,” I said, brushing soot from her cheek. “You don’t let personal feelings compromise good decisions. But you’re allowed to be terrified after. You’re allowed to need us to come home.”
She nodded, tears finally spilling over. “I needed you to come home.”
“I did. I will. Every time, as long as it’s within my power.” I held her while she processed, while the adrenaline crash hit and the fear she’d been holding back flooded through. “This is part of what we do. The jobs we chose mean sometimes we’re in danger, sometimes we have to send each other into danger. But we trust each other’s competence, and we fall apart together afterward.”
“I can be both,” she said slowly, like she was testing the words. “Professional and vulnerable. Strong and needing pack.”
“You can be everything you are. That’s what pack means.”
Dane appeared beside us, his tactical assessment complete. “Structure is safe for investigation. Cause looks like faulty electrical, not arson. Mrs. Jenkins’s daughter is en route from Boulder, should arrive within two hours.”
“Good.” Sable straightened, wiping her eyes and shifting back into coordinator mode. “I’ll brief Margaret for continuity, then we can head home.”
“Home,” Silas echoed, joining us with a satisfied smile. “I like how that sounds. All four of us, going home together after a good response.”
We finished the paperwork and debriefing, then headed back to Dane’s house that was starting to feel more like our pack house. The ride was quiet, everyone processing in their own way, but through the bonds I could feel the contentment. The satisfaction of a job well done, a life saved, a pack functioning exactly as it should.
When we got home, Sable immediately headed for the shower, needing to wash off the stress and fear as much as I needed to wash off the soot. I joined her, not for anything sexual, just for the comfort of being close. Of proving we were both safe and whole and home.
“I’m proud of you,” I said as water cascaded over both of us. “For making the hard call. For trusting me to do my job despite how much it scared you.”
“I’m proud of you too. For going in without hesitation. For saving Mrs. Jenkins. For being exactly the alpha you’ve always been, just without the guilt weighing you down.”
“The guilt’s still there,” I admitted. “Probably always will be, at least a little. But it’s not crushing anymore. Not defining me. You helped with that.”
“We helped each other.” She leaned against me, exhausted and clean and exactly where she needed to be. “That’s what pack does.”
Later, after we’d both dressed and collapsed on the couch with the others, Silas made dinner while Dane documented the call for his records. Normal pack things. Comfortable routines that were starting to feel essential instead of new.
“Mrs. Jenkins’s daughter called,” Dane said, setting down his phone. “Wanted to thank all of us. Said her mother won’t stop talking about how Beau carried her down the stairs like she weighed nothing.”
“She’s a sweet lady,” Sable said. “And those cookies she makes are honestly amazing.”
“We should take her some when she’s recovered,” Silas suggested. “Our cookies. Show her we appreciate her being part of the community.”
“Our cookies?” I repeated. “We don’t make cookies.”
“We’re learning,” Silas said cheerfully. “Pack skills include baking, apparently.”
Through the bonds, I felt everyone’s amusement. This was us. A disaster pack learning to function through trial and error, mistakes and successes, dangerous calls and comfortable domesticity.
“I wouldn’t trade this for anything,” Sable said quietly. “The messy parts, the scary parts, the learning as we go. All of it.”
“Same,” I agreed. “Even when it’s terrifying sending you into dangerous coordination situations or knowing you’re scared while I’m in burning buildings. I wouldn’t trade it.”
“To disaster packs,” Silas said, raising his water glass. “May we continue to figure it out as we go.”
