Her words push me over the edge. My orgasm hits like a freight train, overwhelming and complete, and she follows seconds later. We ride it out together, bodies locked, sharing breath and pleasure and something deeper than just physical release.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, skin slick with sweat, breathing slowly returning to normal. Reagan's head rests on my chest, my hand tracing lazy patterns on her back.
"That was perfect," she says eventually.
"Yeah." I kiss the top of her head. "It was."
"We're good at this. Us. Together."
"We're good at a lot of things together." My hand stops moving on her back. "Question is whether we can sustain it. This life. The missions, the danger, the constant threat."
"I killed someone six weeks ago. Shot him in the throat while he was trying to kill Khalid." She pauses. "I'd do it again. Not because I want to kill people, but because protecting the people I care about matters more."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes, it is." Her hand finds my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "I chose this when I chose you. When I chose to expose the Committee. This is who we are now."
"The monsters fight back too."
"I know, but we're still here. We're still breathing. We're still making them pay for what they've done. That's something."
She's right. The leadership escaped prosecution, but the organization is bleeding. Morrison's legacy is destroyed. Protocol Seven is condemned internationally. We didn't get the clean victory, the total destruction of everything the Committee built.
But we got this. Reagan, Khalid, the team, a facility that represents everything we're fighting for. People to protect. A purpose beyond survival.
And the Committee knows now—they're not untouchable. We proved they can bleed. Every defector, every prosecution, every exposure chips away at their power. Webb and the others at the top might stay insulated for now, but their empire is cracking.
"You're thinking too much." Reagan kisses me, soft and sweet. "Stop thinking. Just be here with me."
"I'm here."
"Good." She settles back against my chest. "Because I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. We're in this together now."
Sleep comes easier than it has in months. Reagan's weight against me, her breathing steady and even, the security of Echo Base surrounding us. For the first time in years, I let myself believe that maybe this is sustainable. Maybe we can have this.
Maybe we can win.
I wake to an empty bed and the sound of Reagan's voice in the next room, already on a call with one of her sources. Business as usual, even after everything.
I pull on clothes and find her at the desk, laptop open, notes scattered everywhere. She's chasing a new lead already, pursuing the next thread that can't wait.
"Committee financial officer in Nevada," she explains without me asking. "He's nervous. Wants to talk but needs assurances. I'm working on getting him protective custody."
"Another one flipping."
"Another one deciding he doesn't want to go down with their ship." She makes a note on her pad. "This is how we win, Dylan. One defector at a time."
A knock at the door interrupts us. Khalid stands in the hallway, already dressed for training, energy radiating off him in waves.
"Mercer said he'd work with me this morning. Hand-to-hand combat." The kid's excitement is barely contained. "Can I?"
"Yeah." The answer is immediate. "And Khalid, listen to him. Mercer knows what he's doing."
"I always listen." Khalid grins, the expression transforming his usually serious face. "I just don't always obey."
He's gone before I can respond, racing toward the training spaces with enthusiasm that only comes from finally having a home.
Reagan watches him go, then turns to me. "We're doing this. Building a future here."
