"Necessity. Grew up on a Montana ranch. My mom had left when I was a kid, and my father thought dinner came from a bottle." The words come easier than expected. "Learned early that if I wanted to eat, I had to figure it out myself."
"That must have been hard." Her voice carries genuine sympathy, not pity.
"Made me self-sufficient." I shrug, stirring pasta into boiling water. "The Army felt like coming home in a lot of ways. Structure, purpose, people who had my back. Built a career. Could have been worse."
"Could have been better too." She meets my eyes when I glance over. "You deserved better than parents who chose to leave instead of stay."
Most people smooth over that truth with platitudes about how challenges make us stronger. Andi just states the fact like it is, simple and direct.
When the food is ready, I plate two servings and carry them to the table. Duke positions himself between our chairs, his attention divided equally between us and the possibility of dropped food. We eat in comfortable silence for a while. Andi's hungrier than she probably realized, clearing her plate faster than I do.
"This is really good," she says, setting down her fork. "Thank you."
"You needed food." I drain my water glass. "Can't function on adrenaline and fear forever. Learned that the hard way."
"What were you like before?" She leans back in her chair, studying me. "Before loss made you build walls to keep everyone out?"
I wasn't expecting that. Most people don't ask. They take the controlled soldier at face value and never look deeper. But Andi's not most people.
"Younger. More open." I push my empty plate aside. "Believed the people I cared about would be there tomorrow if I just did my job well enough. Then my mom left. Dad drank himself to death. Ryan’s dog alerted to the IED and Ryan moved to investigate before I could stop him. Ajax missed the alert that Ryan's dog caught. Ryan and his dog died while Ajax and I survived." I lean forward, elbows on the table. "So I learned. People leave or die. Safer to stay alone."
"Safer for who?" Her voice is quiet but pointed. "Them or you?"
The words slice through every careful justification I've built over the years. All my reasoning about protecting others by keeping my distance, about how caring makes me vulnerable and gets people killed—just elaborate rationalization. I don't want to care and lose again.
"Me." The admission costs something. "It's safer for me."
"At least you're honest about it." She doesn't look away, doesn't let me hide behind the walls. "We're quite the pair, aren't we? Both hiding from life because we're afraid of death. Not ours, but someone else's."
She poured herself into work that prevents loss. I built walls that prevent connection. Different strategies, same avoidance. And here we sit in my kitchen past the time when normal people sleep, sharing brutal honesty about the ways we've been running.
Duke shifts at my feet, his warmth solid and reassuring. He doesn’t care about my walls or her grief. He just loves without reservation, trusts without question, exists fully in each moment. Maybe there's wisdom in that kind of faith.
"I'm glad you're here," I say, because it's true and because tonight showed me how fragile everything is. "Not because of the stalker or the protection detail. I'm glad you're here. In this space. With me."
Andi's expression softens, vulnerable in ways that make breathing difficult. "Me too."
She's close enough across the small table that I could reach out and touch her. Her eyes hold mine, flecks of gold visible in the dim kitchen light. Standing up and closing the distance would be easy. Natural. Exactly what I want to do.
My phone buzzes with an incoming email. I almost ignore it, but the sender catches my attention. Base security intelligence briefing. Could be relevant to Andi's situation.
I pull up the email while Andi starts clearing our plates. It's routine intelligence from allied installations, flagging similar incident patterns for awareness. JEB Tidewater. Marine biologist. Escalating harassment. Equipment sabotage. Timeline matches what Andi's been experiencing.
Different base, different woman, same pattern. The methodology overlaps too much. The escalation timeline matches too closely. My instincts say there's a connection, even if I can't see it yet.
I glance up and catch Andi in the kitchen, supposedly washing dishes but actually crouched down next to Duke, sneaking him bits of leftover pasta. Duke's tail wags slowly, his eyes locked on her with complete adoration as he gently takes each piece from her fingers. She's exhausted and someone tried to kill her tonight, but she's taking time to spoil my dog.
I pocket my phone and move to the kitchen doorway. "You know he's trained not to beg, right?"
Andi straightens quickly, guilt flashing across her face before she sees my expression. "He wasn't begging. He was just sitting there looking pathetic."
"That's his specialty." I lean against the doorframe. "He's got you figured out already."
"Maybe I wanted to spoil him." She scratches behind Duke's ears, and he leans into her touch with contentment. "He's been working hard keeping me safe. Deserves a reward."
"He'd follow you anywhere now. You fed him from your hand. That's pack behavior."
"Good." She meets my eyes. "I like being pack."
