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Barrett’s befuddlement grew. But so did his amusement. “You could be completely fabricating every name.”
“But I’m not.”
Were they arguing orbantering? This was weird. But yet Barrett said, “So you don’t want to play the fish name game? Gotta say, if this is supposed to put me to sleep, it’s failing.”
Barrett swore he saw Ambrose’s lip twitch. Otherwise, the man was a moss-covered boulder. “If you would lie back and let me continue -”
“Yeah, continue lying.”
A huff and then, “Let me continuespeaking, I can tell you more. You can verify their sanctity in the morning.”
“Fair enough.” He knew when he was beat. Plus it’d been pretty hilarious to watch Ambrose try not to smile. Hilarious, sure, for such a sourpuss. It’d also been nice. Barrett was never one to turn downnice.
“Cyprinus carpio.”
“Okay, that might be legit. Carp?”
“Correct.”
The beast that was Barrett’s love of cheesy trivia games, the ones he never got to play, rose up with a delighted roar. He also had a thing for praise but that was never getting near Ambrose.
“Go again.”
“Hmmm. How about a tricky one?”
“Tricky bullshit, you mean.”
Ambrose shoved another pillow under his head and turned to look at Barrett, the tiniest smirk on his face as he said softly, “Corydoras leucomelas.”
That was way too elegant for three in the goddamn morning. Barrett flopped back down on his cot. “I got no fucking clue. It’s so…ridiculous sounding, I’m prone to believe it’s real.”
“And you would, again, be correct. And it’s the false spotted catfish, in case you were curious.”
It wasn’t praise, not coming out of that strangely hard yet plush mouth. But it warmed Barrett a little. He yawned, his jaw cracking. “Holy shit, you were right.”
As Barrett closed his eyes, his body now heavy with exhaustion, he swore he heard Ambrose mutter, “Can you tell my mother that?”
When the morning blew in with more cold but thankfully no more snow, Ambrose awoke to the smell of coffee. “It’s instant, sorry,” Barrett said as Ambrose sat up, rubbing his eyes. He felt disgusting, and his mouth tasted like wool shearing.
“Any caffeine is better than none,” he said, throat raspy. He started to roll to his side and then remembered his ankle. It slammed into his other one as he lost his balance and landed, askew, on the bed.
Barrett was right there a moment later. “Shit, you okay?”
Ambrose flinched as hands drew near and then Barrett remembered, cursing softly. But not at Ambrose. “No, it’s not….I’m not touch-averse. I’m…” He paused, waving his hand then letting it flop limply to the bed. “I’m just sensitive. Always have been.”
He could see the big man physically as well as mentally pause. As if weighing Ambrose’s words. It was something promising and wholly unexpected. “No worries. And I’m assuming yesterday was through necessity.”
“That and probably leftover adrenaline.”
Barrett shivered and Ambrose noticed he was wearing a different shirt. This was a thick waffle henley in a pine green. He’d never noticed how dark Barrett’s eyes were; they nearly matched his hair in the early morning light. “But sensitive. I got it.” He motioned to Ambrose’s ankle, which was making itself well known by the deep throb that timed with his heartbeat. “I’ve got some over the counter painkillers, and we can put more ice on it. Plus, all the better to wash this down with.” He plunked a granola bar down and walked back to the kitchenette.
They sipped terrible coffee and ate dry granola bars while Barrett put calls into the station. The first few fritzed out but he finally got through. “Can probably clear a route to you in a few hours. We’re already at the bottom of Logger, but with the bridges out we have to go around.”
“Yeah, about that.” Barrett paused and Ambrose tried not to look like he was eavesdropping. “I get back to the station, got something for Jacques.”
“Got it. I’ll let him know. You two okay up there?”
“It’s shockingly cozy!” Ambrose said loudly.
