Martinez’s stupid smile got wider. “Cool. Is he as intense in person as he seems?”
“More,” Hudson said. “So much more.”
“And that’s your thing?” Martinez smirked.
Hudson thought about the day Elliot had come back from Okafor’s office. Something had changed. Elliot’s shoulders were relaxed for the first time in forever and he seemed slightly less braced. After that, Hudson had been more sure about this than he’d ever been about anything.
“Yeah,” he said. “Appears so.”
Martinez clapped him on the shoulder once and went back to his weights. “Good for you, Cap.”
And that was it. No follow-up questions, no loaded silence. Just back to work, like Hudson had said something completely ordinary.
Hudson trusted Martinez with his life on a daily basis. Weird to think he hadn't thought he could trust him with this too.
The restof the day passed slowly. Nine more hours. Not that he was counting.
Hudson ran the perimeter twice in the afternoon heat until his calves burned and his wrist throbbed. But at least he got a ten-minute break from his thoughts. He ate with Martinez and didn’t talk about anything important. He watched two guys from the ground team play cards for an hour and resisted the urge to join—mostly because he was pretty sure he would have kicked both their asses and that seemed like bad manners.
At 1900 he wandered past the operations room. Through the small window he saw Elliot at the central table, leaning over a map with Okafor, one hand flat on the table and the other pointing at something specific in the northern grid. His face was doing that calculating, three-steps ahead thing.
Hudson lingered there longer than was strictly dignified.
At 2100 he went back to his quarters and grabbed his wash kit. Martinez looked up from his bed with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Night, Cap. See you in the morning.”
Hudson rolled his eyes, but still said goodnight. He wasn’t coming back and they both knew it.
He stood in the corridor outside Elliot’s door for a minute before letting himself in. Sitting on the bed in the dark, he waited.
Ten nights in a row and his stomach still tensed with anticipation when he heard Elliot’s footsteps in the corridor.
Elliot stopped in the doorway and took in the sight of Hudson, sitting on his bed, back against the headboard, naked. He closed the door behind him.
Even though the room was dim, Hudson registered the exact second Elliot’s pupils dilated.
“I watched you work tonight,” Hudson said.
“I’m aware. I saw you lurking outside the window.”
“I didn’t lurk. It was five minutes.”
“Twenty-five.” Elliot put his notes on the desk.
“Well. I wasn’t counting.”
“I was.” Elliot shrugged off his jacket. “You had nothing better to do than stand outside a window for twenty-five minutes?”
“Nah.” Hudson watched him move through the room,slowly—boots off, gear set aside. “That was as good as it got.”
Elliot turned to look at him. The light from the lamp post outside the window caught the line of his shoulder, the dark ink of the tattoos disappearing under his shirt sleeve.
“Is that right,” Elliot said.
“Come here.” Hudson patted the empty space beside him on the bed.
“I just finished a twelve-hour shift.” He backed away with his hands up. “Give me five minutes.”
