“What about you?” Hudson asked. “Elliot’s pretty formal. You named after some fancy great-great-grandfather?”
“It’s French.Eliot.” Shaw said his name in French andit suddenly sounded a hundred times more sophisticated. “My mother’s from Lyon. My name was one of the few things my parents could agree on.”
Hudson caught the edge in his words, but didn't push. "Well, that explains the French cussing I've been hearing."
"You noticed that?"
"Hard not to when you mutterputainevery time I beat your ass.”
"I do not—" Shaw stopped, clearly realizing he was right."Merde."
Hudson laughed.
The fire crackled. Wind rattled the shelter. Hudson shifted, trying to find a position that didn't make his back scream, but there wasn't one.
"You close with your mom?" Shaw asked after a minute. He seemed almost as surprised by the question as Hudson was.
Hudson glanced at him, trying not to make a big deal out of the fact that Shaw had voluntarily started a conversation. "Yeah. Really close. It's just been her, my sister, Taylor, and me for a long time. Dad left when I was six." Saying it out loud left a sour taste in his mouth, as always. He hadn’t seen his dad in seventeen years. He didn’t even know where he was. If he was still alive.
Shaw nodded slowly. “She sounds tough."
"She is. Made it work." Hudson pulled his knees tighter to his chest. "What about you and your mom?"
Shaw's expression shuttered. "Not much to say. She's kind but... living with The General hasn't been easy. It's not her fault, though." He said it fast, like he’d defended this before.
"That must be hard."
"It is what it is." Shaw's expression closed off, eyes going distant the way they always did when he decided aconversation was over. Hudson recognized the tell by now.
They were quiet for a while, the cold seeping in despite the shelter. Shaw sat beside him, close enough that Hudson could feel the warmth of his body. It should've been awkward, but instead it felt settled.
He glanced over. "Did you always want to do this? Military, I mean."
Shaw let out a breath that sounded more like a fake laugh. "No."
"No?"
"I wanted to be an engineer. Design buildings and bridges. Stuff that actually lasts." He sounded bitter.
"Did your dad push you into this?"
"He didn't have to push. I knew what was expected." Shaw shifted, shoulder brushing Hudson's. “The only thing I had a say in was whether I wanted to enlist or go to West Point. My dad went to West Point, so I enlisted. What about you? You seem like you actually want to be here."
"Yeah, I do. When I was a kid I told everyone I was going to be a hero when I grew up. Wanted to fly jets and save people." He didn’t say the part about him wanting to really matter.
"A hero." Shaw sounded amused.
"Shut up. I was ten."
"And the pilot thing?"
Hudson smiled. "Still want that. Aviation Warrant Officer. Then 160th SOAR. Wanna be a Night Stalker."
"Of course you do."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Very you. Wanting to swoop in and save the day."
