“Coffee,” she says, nodding toward the kitchenette. “I made it strong. Black. Just the way you like it, assuming you like drinking battery acid.”
I walk over, pick up the mug, and take a sip. It’s bitter, hot, and perfect.
“You hacked my coffee preferences?”
“I observed. Pattern recognition.” She finally looks up. Her eyes are bright, clear. The shadows under them are fading. “How’s the side?”
“Sore. Bearable.” I lean against the counter, just watching her. “Come here.”
She sets the tablet down and unfolds from the chair. She crosses the room, stepping into my space. I wrap my good arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me.
“Good morning,” she whispers.
“Morning.”
I kiss her. It’s lazy and slow, tasting of caffeine and shared breath. I could stay here all day. I could lock the door, ignore the war, and spend the next twenty-four hours learning every inch of her skin again.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three sharp raps. The rhythm of an intrusion.
Talia pulls back, smoothing the T-shirt. “That sounds like a command.”
“Ignore it.”
“Fuse.” Ghost’s voice comes through the heavy wood. “Open up. We brought breakfast.”
I groan, resting my forehead against Talia’s. “I hate them.”
“They saved our lives.”
“Still hate them.”
I shuffle to the door and disengage the lock.
Halo breezes in past me, holding a box of donuts and a tablet. Ghost follows, carrying a tray of coffees that smell significantly better than what I’m drinking.
“Morning, sunshine,” Halo grins. He stops, looking from me to Talia in the oversized shirt, then back to me. His grin widens to lethal proportions. “Oh. I see. We’re interrupting the honeymoon phase. My bad. Should I come back in twenty minutes?”
“Twenty minutes?” I growl. “Insulting.”
“You’re injured,” Halo counters, setting the donuts on the small table. “I assumed you lacked stamina.”
“I have a gun in the nightstand, Diego. Don’t tempt me.”
Ghost hands a coffee to Talia. “Ignore him. He’s jealous.”
“I am not jealous,” Halo protests, snagging a glazed donut. “I’m efficient. And right now, we have work to do.”
The atmosphere shifts. The teasing evaporates, replaced by the sharp focus of the team. Talia sits in the chair, pulling her legs up. I lean against the wall, guarding her flank out of habit.
“Talk to me,” I say. “What’s the damage?”
“How’s the side?” Ghost asks.
“It holds.”
“Good. Because you’re officially on medical leave. Mandatory.” Ghost’s eyes flick to Talia. “Both of you. You stepped into the fire. You brought back the prize. Now you rest.”
