This is where I step back into my role of the controlled, untouchable, precise operator.
The rotor still spins overhead, chopping the air into violent rhythm.
Hawk runs through shutdown protocol with efficient movements. His focus is outward — perimeter, sight lines, approach vectors.
He is already thinking three moves ahead. He chose this.
He chose me. The weight of that settles inside me harder than the altitude shift. I reach up and remove the headset. He does the same.
“I’ll sweep the access stairwell first,” he says, already shifting into operational mode.
He starts to unbuckle. I put my hand over his. He freezes. The contact is small, but intentional.
Hawk looks at me — sharp, assessing.
“I know you don’t trust me,” I say over the rotor wash.
His jaw tightens slightly.
“That hasn’t changed.”
“I know.”
Wind pulls at my borrowed jacket.
“I won’t forget that you came back,” I continue. “You didn’t have to.”
His eyes search mine for angle. There isn’t one.
“Thank you,” I say.
The words feel foreign on my tongue. I don’t use them often. He studies me hard. But there’s something in his expression that softens.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he says.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
Before my discipline can reassemble itself, I lean forward and close the distance. I kiss him. My hand slides up to his jaw — the same place he touched mine earlier.
Hawk’s body goes still for one stunned heartbeat. Then, he responds. His hand comes up instinctively, gripping my waist with firm certainty. The kiss deepens — not reckless, not consuming — but undeniable.
Heat flashes through me. The moment and feeling are real. This is not a scripted scene. For once, something in my crazy life is authentic.
This feeling I have is something else. And that realization jolts through me as sharply as the contact itself.
I pull back first, noticing my breathing is uneven. His hand remains at my waist a fraction longer than necessary before he releases it.
“That wasn’t tactical,” he says, voice rougher than before.
“No.”
The rotor begins to slow.
“You’re complicating things,” he adds.
“Everything worth doing is complicated.”
A faint edge of something almost like a smile touches his mouth. Then it disappears. He shifts back into operational posture instantly.
