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He was a scientist. He was intelligent, and he had guts. He was determined and driven.
All he wanted was to be taken seriously and to be credited with his work.
And maybe he was extra bummed about not being able to read any of his data because his booster was a melted pile of metal and plastic. Or maybe he lost the data. We wouldn’t know until he could get a look at it. And that was deflating.
But it wasn’t just that.
That last storm had shaken him.
“You sure you’re okay?” I asked.
We were sitting cross-legged on the bed with bowls of rice in our laps. He’d barely touched his dinner. Even after the mind-blowin’ afternoon we’d spent in bed, his mood hung heavy around him like the clouds outside.
“Yeah,” he answered, more of a hum than a word.
“We have to leave tomorrow,” I said, not for the first time. I pointed to the sound of rain on the roof. “This is the real beginning of the rainy season. They’ve predicted two days of heavy falls and that means all roads in and out will be underwater. Unless you wanna get choppered out, or if you wanna stay here for three or four months...”
His eyes cut to mine, and I realised I’d said the magic words.
He didn’t just not want to go back to Melbourne and back to work. He didn’t want to go back at all.
“I’d like to stay here,” he said quietly. “I know it’s not possible or feasible, at all. We’d be out of food in a few days, and I don’t fancy eating crocodile.”
“It’s not so much the eatin’ crocs that’s questionable,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s the catchin’ of the croc that’s problematic.”
He shrugged. “If we get enough rain, I could just go and stand out in the clearing as bait.”
“That’s not funny.”
He smirked. “It kinda was.”
I smiled and finished the last mouthful of my rice. At least he’d almost smiled; it was a start.
He sighed and stirred his rice a bit before pushing it away in disgust.
“Sick of my cooking already?”
I was aiming for funny, but he blinked, wide eyed. “Oh no, not at all. I’m just not that hungry. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. There’s only so many days you can eat spicy rice.”
“I actually really like this,” he said. Then he frowned. “I wish I didn’t have to leave. I wish I could stay here. Just us two.” Then he cringed. “Or just me, if that sounded a bit presumptuous. I just...” He sighed. “It’s just being here with you, with no responsibility, no outside world. Just chasing the storms, doing what we want when we want, and...”
“And having great sex,” I finished for him.
He blushed, his smile shy. “It’s been the best time of my life,” he admitted, his blue eyes deep as the ocean. “That probably sounds lame to you, but this?” He gestured to the bunker, then to me. “This doesn’t happen to guys like me.”
“What do you mean guys like you?”
“Nerd. Loner. Weirdo. Freak. I believe there’s a list.”
“You mean smart and sexy, with cojones the size of basketballs.”
He gawped, then felt his crotch. “What?”
“Not literally.” I chuckled. “Metaphorically speaking. You have balls of steel. Fearless.”
His smiled twisted and he frowned. “I was scared today. And yesterday,” he whispered. “For you. I was scared for you. That I’d put you in danger, and I’m sorry I did that.”
