"I'm doing what I'm assigned to do."
"Brother." Griff slows to a walk, forcing me to match his pace or leave him behind. I slow. "You're in love with her."
The words land like a blow to the sternum. "That's not what this is."
"No? Then what is it?"
"It's an assignment. I'm just doing what Hartwell asked me to do." I start walking again, faster this time. "You're reading things that aren't there."
"Bullshit." Griff keeps pace easily. "I've known you for how long? I know what you look like when you're just doing an assignment. This isn't that."
"Maybe you've just been standing too close to too many exploding devices. Scrambled your brain."
Griff snorts. "Nice deflection. But I'm not the one running at dawn to avoid waking her up. Talk to me. What's really going on?"
The deflection dies in my throat. Because he's right, and we both know it. And standing here trying to lie to my best friend about what's happening feels worse than admitting the truth.
"Wade's dead because I was distracted." The admission comes out rough, scraped raw from the place I keep locked down. "I'm not making that mistake again."
"Wade's dead because a training dive went bad." Griff's voice gentles without losing its edge. "Not because you loved your job or your team or your life. You requested this assignment,Holden. You moved into her apartment, then into base housing with her. You're running at dawn to avoid waking her up. And you've got that look Wade used to give you hell about. The one that says you've found something worth keeping. So yeah, brother, I think Wade's got something to do with why you won't admit what's right in front of you."
Wade. My best friend. My swim buddy. The SEAL who died in a training dive gone wrong. I’ve replayed that day a thousand times, convinced I should have spotted something, done something different. The loss that made me promise never to let anyone that close again because losing people you love destroys you from the inside out.
"And he'd kick your ass for using his death as an excuse to stay alone," Griff adds quietly.
Another set of footsteps approaches. Thatcher Caine jogs up, slowing when he sees us stopped on the beach. He's already in running gear, probably doing his own dawn PT before the day starts.
"Hey," Thatcher says, reading the tension immediately. "You two look intense. Am I interrupting something?"
"Just telling Holden he's allowed to move on from Wade." Griff crosses his arms, stance relaxed but voice serious. "You want to weigh in? Widower perspective?"
Thatcher's expression shifts, the easy greeting replaced with something more guarded. His wife died years ago. Cancer, not combat. But loss is loss, and grief carves the same scars regardless of how it arrives.
"You asking my permission to care about someone?" Thatcher directs the question at me, cutting through the deflection.
"No." Yes. Maybe. The confusion must show on my face because Thatcher's mouth quirks in a half-smile.
"Good. Because you don't need it." He shifts his weight, gaze moving to the ocean. "My wife died slowly. We had time to say everything that mattered. And you know what she made me promise before the end?" He looks back at me. "That I'd find someone else. That I wouldn't waste the rest of my life alone just because she wasn't in it anymore."
Wade being pulled from the ocean. I vowed to make sure his death meant something. But he’d never want me to do it alone. He would never want me to cut myself off from anything good because guilt felt safer than risk.
"It's not the same," I say, but the words lack conviction.
"You're right." Thatcher's voice is quiet, certain. "Wade was your brother. You chose that bond, built it through training and ops and trust. What you're feeling for Dr. McKay is different. Doesn't make it wrong. Just makes it new."
New. The word settles in my chest, uncomfortable and terrifying and exactly right. This thing with Fallon is uncharted territory. I don't know the currents or the depth or whether I'll drown if I dive in.
But standing on the shore watching waves crash hasn't kept me safe. Just kept me alone.
"She deserves better than someone who's using her safety as an excuse not to deal with his feelings," I say finally.
"Then deal with them." Griff claps my shoulder, grip firm. "Wade wouldn't want you alone. None of us do. And that woman has you running in circles trying to protect her while pretending you don't want more. Eventually you're going to have to pick one."
The run back to base housing is quieter. Griff peels off toward his quarters with a final knowing look. Thatcher jogs beside me for another mile before heading to MARSOC facilities. Their words echo in my head with each footfall, impossible toignore. You're in love with her. Wade wouldn't want you alone. Eventually you're going to have to pick one.
The base housing complex is quiet this early, most residents still asleep. I approach our street and immediately notice the official vehicle parked in front of the house, lights off but engine running. Wrong. The officers I left should be doing perimeter checks, not sitting stationary.
I break into a sprint, closing the distance in seconds. The officer rolls down his window as I approach, expression grim.
