Instead he lay there cataloging details he had no business noticing. The scar above Hale's eyebrow—new since Selection, probably earned in combat. The way his chest rose and fell. The definition in his shoulders and arms, more pronounced than Elliot remembered. Hale had filled out in the past few years, added muscle in all the right places without losing the lean athleticism that made him good at what he did.
Elliot's eyes tracked down Hale's torso, following the line of his ribs to where the sheet rested low on his hips. Hale's skin was unmarked except for his two weird tattoos and at lot of scars; small ones scattered across his body like a map of close calls and narrow escapes.
This had been a mistake. Not the sex—the sex had been intense and necessary and exactly what Elliot had needed after years of trying to pretend he didn't. But letting Hale stay. Sleeping beside him. Waking up next to him as if this was something they did, like this could be more than one night. Nothing had changed. This was still not possible.
Hale's breathing shifted from the deep rhythm of sleep to something lighter. His eyes fluttered open and focused on Elliot. “Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning."
Hale stretched, the movement pulling the sheet lower. Elliot kept his eyes on Hale's face through sheer force of will.
"What time is it?" Hale asked.
Elliot glanced at the clock. "0915."
"Shit." Hale sat up, running a hand down his face. "I've got a flight out of Raleigh at 1300. I need to get back to my hotel."
Elliot's stomach coiled. Back to Afghanistan. Tomorrow Hale would be eight thousand miles away.
“Of course,” Elliot said. "You should go."
Hale’s expression was unreadable. "Yeah. I really should."
Neither of them moved.
After a moment, Elliot said, “I was thinking about taking a shower. You could join?”
Hale's mouth curved. “Really?”
"You have a flight to catch, I have to check out at 1000. More efficient."
"Right. Efficient." Hale was smirking now, the cocky bastard. "Very clever thinking, Shaw."
"Shut up." Elliot got up, hoping that Hale would follow.
The shower was toosmall for two people, let alone two people of their size, which meant they were pressed together whether they wanted to be or not.
Elliot wanted to be. More than he had wanted anything in a long time.
Hale's fingers moved through Elliot's hair, working up a lather with a gentleness that had no urgency in it despite their timeframe. Elliot had his eyes closed, feeling all of it.
"You're quiet," Hale observed.
"Focused."
"On what?"
"Not thinking."
Hale's hands stilled. "That's new for you."
It was. Elliot didn'tnotthink. Didn't let himself exist in moments without calculating next steps, assessing risks, planning exit strategies.
But Hale's hands were in his hair and the water was beating down on his shoulders and for once Elliot let himself just—be.
Hale rinsed the shampoo out thoroughly, then reached for the soap.
Elliot braced his hands against the tile as Hale's soapy hands moved across his shoulders, down his back, tracing his spine with what felt like very deliberate attention.
