"You're thinking loud."
Steele almost smiled. "That a medical diagnosis?"
"It's an observation." Risk closed his book, marking his place with a finger. "You've been off since we finished this morning."
Had he? Steele wasn't sure. Everything felt the same lately. Training. Waiting. More training. The occasional op that reminded him why they did this. Then back to waiting.
"Just tired," Steele said.
Risk studied him for a moment. The man had a way of seeing through bullshit. Probably came from being the medic. From having to assess injuries and stress and trauma in the middle of chaos.
"You should sleep," Risk said finally.
"Probably."
"But you won't."
"Probably not."
Risk shrugged and went back to his book. Didn't push. That was another thing about this team. They knew when to push and when to let things lie. Knew the difference between a problem that needed solving and a mood that just needed to pass.
Ghost's fingers paused on his keyboard. "Pizza tonight?"
Joker cracked one eye open. "The place off base with the good wings?"
"That's the one."
"I'm in."
Risk nodded without looking up. They all looked at Steele.
"Sure," he said. "Why not."
It was what they did. Found small normal moments in the spaces between the work. Pizza on a Tuesday night. Beers at the bar on Friday. Pickup basketball games when they had time. The ordinary rituals that kept them tethered to something resembling a normal life. Even if none of them really believed in normal anymore.
The afternoon drifted by. Ghost worked on whatever Ghost worked on. Joker napped. Risk read. Steele pretended to read and mostly just stared at the page while his mind wandered.
Eventually Bulldog appeared, grease on his hands and a satisfied expression on his face. "Fixed the trigger pull on the spare rifle," he announced.
"Did it need fixing?" Hawk asked from the doorway. Steele hadn't heard him arrive but he was there anyway, silent as always.
"It does now," Bulldog said.
Joker sat up, pulling out his earbuds. "That's not how that works."
"Sure it is. Preventative maintenance."
"You just like taking things apart."
"That too."
They gathered their things. Headed out to Joker's truck because he always drove and nobody argued about it anymore. Piled in with the easy familiarity of men who'd done this a hundred times before.
The pizza place was twenty minutes off base. Small. Family-owned. The kind of place that didn't ask questions when six guys in military haircuts showed up and ordered enough food for a platoon.
They claimed their usual table in the back. Ordered. Fell into the comfortable rhythm of not talking about work because work was always there and sometimes you needed to pretend it wasn't.
Bulldog told a story about his niece's dance recital and how he'd accidentally dozed off and missed her entire performance. Ghost mentioned some documentary he'd watched about cyber warfare. Joker complained about his truck's transmission. Normal conversation. Normal lives. Or as close as they got.
