Blue 47 sat on his nest and did not move at all.
“Hang in there, buddy,” I murmured to him as we passed by his portion of the perimeter.
The path back to the tent crossed a low ridge of exposed rock. The rain hit harder on the ridge with nothing to break the wind. It came in off the water at a low angle, small and sharp against any exposed skin. I pulled my collar up and kept my head down and watched my footing on the wet rock. Behind me I could hear Sam’s boots on the same surface, the same careful placementon the same wet angles.
The tent appeared below us, yellow against the grey rock, the fly drumming in uneven bursts as the gusts moved through. Sam unzipped the outer fly while I ducked under the overhang and unclipped my pack. The sound inside was amplified — against the fly, against the tent body, against the rock around us — irregular and loud when the wind came and then briefly quieter in the lulls.
We shed the outer layers in a corner away from our sleeping bag. Water ran off the sleeves and dripped onto the ground. I unlaced my boots and set them at the entrance. Sam did the same and went to start the water to boil. Fresh coffee under rain in a tent was the best experience.
I sat cross-legged on the sleeping pad and pulled out the tablet. I worked through the data we had gathered. The rain gusted against the fly and the tent shuddered once and steadied. Outside, the colony noise had faded some — the wind and the rain loud and somewhere underneath it the faint continuous sound of the creche, smaller now, tighter, waiting out the same weather we were.
Sam came over to me and handed me a hot mug and then settled down next to me. There wasn’t much room to spread out anyhow. But he sat extra close I thought. Almost like he was trying to offer me comfort.
I turned on my laptop and using both the screens did some calculations. Sam pulled a book from his pack and leaned against the crates behind us and started reading. Fieldwork could be a lot of hours of sitting inside tent when the weather was bad. I loved it because it meant I got to be with Sam like this, away from everyone.
At some point, I felt him slip a earbud in my right ear. Samhad an amazing collection of songs. He would often share one of his earbuds and we would listen to the same songs as we worked on our own things. I glanced up at him in the dim light of the tent. He was looking at me, eyes dark and warm.
“Still thinking about Blue?” he asked.
I sipped my coffee and looked away. “I know they don’t feel emotions to the extent we do, obviously. But they were together. And he is now a single dad. Nature is brutal. I just…it makes me think of…” I trailed off. I was being too emotional over a damn bird.
“Of?” He promoted in a low voice.
“Of us,” I exhaled.
“Us?”
“You and me. Obviously we aren’t a bird couple or raising a chick. But I…I can’t imagine what I would do if something were to happen to you.”
Sam didn’t say anything. I think he felt it too. The circle of life and all that shit. Damn, I hated emotions.
The rain poured on for the rest of the day and we spent it reading, talking, and working. We managed to duck out of the tent for a few minutes, braving the rain, and launch the drone for another full flight. Even if we couldn’t be out there collecting data, it could.
When bedtime came, I felt tired enough to not be thinking of our sleeping situation. It was going to be just fine. I’d slept marvelously last night. Sleeping next to Sam was the best sleeping aid.
7
Chapter 7
I blinked my eyes open. The rain had turned to a gentle drip. I lifted my wrist to check time. It was 2:45 AM. Something had woken me up. I turned to look over. Sam was there. The tent was still standing. Everything seemed fine.
I was about to exhale in relief when a heavy arm dropped across me. Sam shifted until he was pressed against me, shoulder to hip. Mortified, I did not move a muscle. I stopped even breathing. He made a low sound, then lifted his leg and wrapped it across my thighs.
Holy shit.
What was happening right now.
I felt soft lips moving against the pounding pulse in my throat.
Fuck.
I barely managed to stifle a groan.
Was he mumbling in his sleep? Or was he kissing? He must have been dreaming.
Surely he must be dreaming. What did I do?
If I woke him up, it would be embarrassing for both of us.
