Novak shot them an apologetic look as Reed dragged him off, but Elliot saw him grinning.
They were alone.
Hale shifted his weight, and suddenly he was closer—close enough that Elliot caught his agarwood cologne that hadn't existed three years ago. Close enough to see the small scar above his left eyebrow that Elliot didn't remember.
"You look good," Hale said after a moment, his gaze tracking over Elliot lazily.
Elliot's throat tightened. "You too."
The party noise filled the space between them—glasses clinking, a guest laughing too loud across the room, Reed's voice carrying from somewhere in the back.
"Reed's enjoying this a little too much," Elliot said.
"He literally called us both being here the greatest wedding gift of all time."
Elliot snorted.
"He's so subtle. Look at him surveilling us.” Hale glanced across the room to where Reed held court near the bar.
"About as subtle as?—"
"A tactical strike," Hale finished.
Elliot eyed him. "You stole my line."
"You were taking too long. You were always slow on the draw."
"Excuse me?" Elliot’s eyes narrowed.
Hale’s mouth did that thing—the sly smile that Elliot had spent three years not thinking about. "I beat your time on every single assignment."
"By seconds."
"A win is a win, Shaw." Hale laughed clear and genuine, and the tension in Elliot’s shoulders unknotted slightly.
"God," Elliot said, shaking his head. "Three years and you're still insufferable."
"Aw. You’ve missed it. Admit it." Hale smirked.
Elliot didn’t answer.
Hale studied him the way he used to at Selection, back when Elliot had pretended not to notice. "You doing okay?"
Elliot opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
"I—"
"Shaw!" someone called from across the room. One of Reed's buddies, waving him over. "Get over here. Reed's telling the story about the demolition site and you need to fact-check his bullshit."
Elliot locked eyes with Hale, who watched him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
"Go," Hale said. "I'll... see you around."
"Yeah. See you around."
Elliot walked away before he could do anything stupid. Like ask Hale if they could talk later—really talk—instead of whatever this had been.
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of forced normalcy. Elliot ended up at a table with guys from Fort Liberty, half-listening to stories he'd heard before, laughing when it seemed appropriate. Hale had settled in with Novak and some of the Selection crew at another table, completely at ease, and Elliot’s stomach pulled tight watching him.
