Carver was nowhere to be seen when she arrived, and Clara debated turning around. Would he use her decision to show up as proof that she was still weak? Would he again berate her? Remind her of what was at stake and the price they had paid to receive this responsibility that now weighed on their shoulders? She was well aware. She knew exactly what she had paid. She knew what was at stake, and she refused to let him yell at her again.
She slid down the wall at the entrance of the hallway to her sector, plopping down unceremoniously. She could see the opening where he would eventually appear, if he chose to appear.
She leaned her head back, debating between closing her eyes or continuing to stare. She decided it wouldn’t hurt to relax a little. When she opened her eyes, only a few minutes later, he had materialized in front of her. She almost jolted, but caught herself just in time to avoid a reaction. He was a spy, this was as much his MO as hers, she reminded herself.
He held out a bottle like an apology, his eyes softer than she expected.
“What’s that?” She practically barked out, inwardly cringing at the harshness of her own tone.
He shrugged, sheepish, “I thought a drink might take the edge off and make this conversation a little easier.”
She grabbed the bottle from him, and quickly took a gulp, almost coughing at the burning sensation as it ran down her throat. The feeling after wasn’t as unpleasant. “Thanks,” she handed the bottle back awkwardly, attempting to move on from her original opening.
“You all packed?” Carver looked back and forth between her and the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, ultimately sitting across from her. His legs were long enough that in thenarrow hallway his feet reached as far as her knees. She resisted the urge to move away from him.
“Yeah. You?”
He nodded, gulping from the bottle. He grimaced as he swallowed. “Nothing like a strong drink.” She only stared in response. Her heart already pounding as they sat in the hallway. He handed her the bottle.
She resisted the urge to scan him. To commit every inch of him to memory, replacing the old version that haunted her. Did this Carver have the same easy-going smile? Did this Carver brush off the things that hurt him until the door was closed? Was he the life of the party? Everyone’s favorite? Her turn to take a drink. Since he grimaced, she didn’t.
More importantly, was this how the coming weeks were to go? Each of them pretending the person in front of them was a stranger instead of someone they knew intimately?
She didn’t think she could pretend that long.
“We have to come up with a plan or this won’t work.”
“What won’t work?” He asked with another drink, handing the bottle back to her.
She practically rolled her eyes as she took it. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Us. This. We won’t be able to work together if we’re constantly on egg shells.” Clara inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the way the shadows cut across his jawline, “We can’t pretend the past away.”
Her next drink of liquor went down smoother, and it had been long enough since she’d had a drink that she could feel the effects already. Carver nodded, contemplating her statement.
She took the moment to note all the changes the last three years had on him, allowing herself to view him the way she wouldn’t only moments before. He was leaner than she’d ever seen him. Every line of his body perfectly carved and toned. It looked like he hadn’t eaten enough recently, his cheeks slightlysunken. His jawline cut so precisely her heart fluttered. Because of the alcohol, of course. Only because of the alcohol. She hated him. No way in hell did she find him attractive.
She couldn’t tell if the circles under his eyes were from lack of sleep or just the shadows playing tricks on her. For some reason she couldn’t identify, she hoped it was the latter. Though she spent the last three years killing every positive emotion she had towards him, some emotions refused to die. It was those rebellious thoughts that wouldn’t let her wish hell on him. She hoped he hadn’t paid the same price she had. Foolish thinking.
He noticed her examination and met her eyes. Clara held his gaze, contemplating the phrase, “the tension could be cut with a knife.” She certainly felt that way now.
“I have an idea,” he said, keeping his voice low. Instinctively, she leaned forward from the wall to hear him better.
4CARVER
“You’ve seen rules of engagement paperwork, right?”
Clara nodded, and Carver took a second to formulate his ideas. He motioned for Clara to hand him the drink, and she obliged. After downing another gulp he continued, “Rules of engagement define what degree of force is allowed within a specific mission. Basically, how the soldiers are allowed to handle combat.” He spoke the words carefully, as much for his benefit as hers.
“Again, well aware.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone, and he wondered why he was trying so hard to keep his own tone neutral, “What’s your point?”
“We need to create our own rules of engagement. If we have to work together, and spend all this time together, we need to have a set list of how we’ll cooperate. The past is in the past; like you said we can’t pretend it away, and the one thing we agree on is that we both want to succeed on this mission. Right?”
Clara bit her bottom lip, (anddangCarver needed to focus), hesitating before she responded, “Agreed.”
Carver grinned, surprised at the pride that welled in him with her agreement; he forced his eyes to focus though the alcohol was starting to make that difficult. He should stop drinking, andhe should not have skipped dinner. “Excellent. Rule Number 1. No matter what the circumstances, you cannot undress in front of me.”
Clara almost choked, “Of all the requests, that's the one you’re starting with??”
One shoulder went up in a half defensive shrug, “Hey, I’m male. I didn’t make the rules on how my biology works.”
