She blinks at Martinez, then at me. "You're leaving me with someone I don't know?"
"Martinez is one of my guys. Good Marine, better shot than me."
"Not a high bar, sir," Martinez says with a grin.
Gwen doesn't look reassured. "How long will you be gone?"
"Two hours, maybe less." Something in her expression makes me pause. "You okay with this?"
She pulls the robe tighter. "Fine. Just wasn't expecting company this early."
"I can make coffee before I go?—"
"I know how to make coffee, Thatcher." But there's no heat in it. Just exhaustion. "Go. Do your PT thing. I'll be fine."
I head out, but something about the way she looked at Martinez bothers me. Not scared, exactly. Just... off-balance.
The morning air is cool when I step outside, perfect for a run. By the time I reach the training area, the rest of the team are already warming up. Hayes stands off to the side, his shoulder still healing from the training accident.
Morning PT feels different. Somewhere between pull-ups and running the obstacle course, Hayes catches my eye with a knowing grin.
The obstacle course mud is fresh from last night's rain, and it sucks at my boots with each step. I vault over the wall, land hard, keep moving. The team flanks me on either side, breathing steady and controlled.
My muscles burn in that familiar way that says I'm alive, functional, sharp. This is where I'm supposed to be most comfortable—physical exertion, clear objectives, measurable results. Except today my head isn't fully in it, and Hayes notices.
"So," he says as we cool down, his arm still in a sling. "This doctor you're protecting. How's that going?"
"Fine."
"Just fine?" Hayes grins. "Word is she's smart. Took on a federal investigation single-handed."
"She documented equipment theft. NCIS is investigating." I don't elaborate.
Hayes laughs. "Man, you should see your face right now. All locked down and professional."
"Because it is professional."
"Sure it is." His grin widens. "That why you've been staying at her place every night?"
"Protective detail. The attack in the parking lot wasn't random." The memory of her fighting off that assailant tightens my jaw—the way she'd gone for his eyes without hesitation, the sound of her elbow connecting with his ribs. "Until NCIS closes the case, she needs security."
"Right. Security." Hayes doesn't sound convinced. "So how hot is this doctor?"
I stop. Hayes gets the full force of my attention. "Drop it."
"That hot, huh?" He grins. "Boss, you know we've got your back. Whatever this is."
"There's nothing to have my back on. I'm doing my job."
The words feel hollow even as I say them. Because Hayes is right—this stopped being just a job somewhere between cooking her breakfast and listening to her admit she's bad at emotional conversations.
Hayes holds up his good hand in surrender, but he's still grinning. "All right, all right. Good to see you actually giving a damn about someone again. Been a while."
He heads back toward the equipment shed, but the observation sits heavy. My team reads me too well. They know the difference between professional focus and personal investment.
And right now, I'm broadcasting the latter loud and clear.
At base, I shower and change, check my phone. A text from Gwen waits:
