She dropped her hands. "I should’ve known. I mean, I read somewhere that as a kid you rebuilt an engine from spare parts."
"I feel so violated."
"You do not."
"I wanted to meet you. I asked more than once. Then you disappeared. I looked for you. As Flatline, I looked for Hopper everywhere."
"You disappeared first, and I was running missions. Being deployed. Then my unit was ambushed, and now the world thinks I’m dead." She gestured vaguely at the forest, the dirt, the remnants of a day that had started with gunfire and was now apparently including the revelation that the man she'd been quietly falling for through a screen was the same one who'd just saved her from a mountain lion with a rock. "I looked for you, too," she said quietly. "When you disappeared, I thought something had happened."
"Something did happen. I just couldn't tell you about it." He shook his head slowly. "Felicity. Hopper. Is there anyone else I should know about?"
"That's all of me." She held his gaze. "Every version. You've met them all now. How about you?"
"You’ve met all my personalities." He held her gaze the same way he had a moment ago.
"Don't do that again," she whispered.
"Throw a rock?"
"Step in front of me."
"I can't promise that."
He closed the space between them. She could smell whatever was left of the morning's coffee on his breath. His hand came up—the same way it had last night when he'd traced her jaw—and this time, his fingers slid into the hair.
She let him. She didn't just let him—she leaned into it, her hand finding the front of his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric.
His forehead touched hers. They stayed there. Breathing. Not moving. Not pulling away.
"This is a terrible idea," she whispered.
"Probably."
"We've known each other for less than a day."
"Technically, we've known each other for weeks. Months, if you count the gaming."
"That's not the same thing."
"It's not entirely different, either."
She tilted her head. His lips brushed hers—barely. Light enough that it might not have counted. Except it did, because she felt it in places that had nothing to do with her mouth.
She pulled back. Not far. Just enough to see his face. "We should go."
"Yeah." He didn't move.
"The chopper's gone. The cougar's gone. And we're sitting in the dirt like two idiots."
"Two alive idiots."
She flattened her palm against his chest. His heart was hammering. So was hers. "Take me to the bunker, MacGyver."
"Lead the way, Hopper."
She stood, brushing dirt and pine needles off her pants. Her legs were solid again. Whatever that moment had been, it had reset something—loosened a knot she hadn't realized she'd been carrying since they'd left the relay station.
They walked back to the SxS in silence, but it wasn't heavy. It was the kind that happened when two people had said enough for now and trusted that there'd be time for more.
