"Guess so,” Shaw repeated.
Hudson's brain told him to say something real, something that mattered, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. What was he supposed to say? Don't go? Stay in touch? I think I might be in love with you even though that makes no fucking sense?
No. He couldn’t do that. That was never the deal. Besides, Hudson didn't fit into the future The General had mapped out for Shaw—and Shaw wasn't going to choose differently. That much had always been clear, and Hudson wasn’t setting himself up for heartbreak.
"Good luck," Hudson said instead, because apparently he was a coward.
Shaw's jaw worked, and Hudson wondered if he was struggling with the same thing, wanting to speak and not being able to find the words.
Shaw stuck out his hand.
Hudson stared at it for a second, then laughed. "Seriously?"
"What else are we supposed to do?" Shaw asked, something almost desperate in his voice. "Hug?"
Hudson took his hand and Shaw gripped it firmly, professionally. He wanted to laugh at how absurd this was. A fucking handshake. After three months of whatever this was.
“See you around, Hale.”
“Yeah. See you around.”
Shaw let go and walked away. Hudson watched him. Two steps. Three. Four.
“Elliot—” Hudson called.
Shaw stopped, his eyes finding Hudson’s, the conflict in them familiar.
“Be safe.”
Shaw gave him a small smile. “You too, Hudson.”
Then he turned back around and headed straight for the North Carolina trucks without hesitation, shoulders straight and stride even, as if this was easy.
Hudson watched him go. What else was he supposed to do?
His brain screamed at him to move. Say something, doliterally anything other than stand here like an idiot, but his feet wouldn’t cooperate and Shaw was getting smaller in the distance and fuck, this was really it. The best three months Hudson had ever had, with someone who actually kept up with him, without having to pretend to be less competitive or less intense or less himself, and it was ending like this.
Reed appeared at his elbow a minute later. "You good?"
Hudson didn’t look at him. “Nah. I don’t think so.”
Reed stayed beside him for a little while, then he squeezed his shoulder once and walked away without making Hudson talk more about it.
The Washington trucks were loading up when Hudson finally forced himself to move. He grabbed his gear and found his assigned seat. Staring out the window as the truck pulled away, he watched the compound get smaller in the distance.
He'd been left before. He knew how to do this.
The truck rumbled on, carrying Hudson west and Shaw east, and there wasn’t a damn thing either of them could do about it.
PART 2
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HUDSON
One year after Selection
Hudson’s armhung around his sister’s shoulders as they walked along the East River, the Manhattan skyline glittering across the water like fireworks. The air bit cold, enough that their breath fogged, but not the bone-deep kind—nothing like Selection. March in New York ran crisp and clear and tolerable as long as you kept moving.
