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“My captain,” he’d gasped as the stretcher lifted him from the ground. No one had paid any attention to his words until he’d grabbed one of the medic’s wrists. “My captain.”
“Is fine.” The medic had hurriedly patted his hand. “Your captain is fine. You worry about you.”
Thinking back on it, Fal’ran wasn’t so sure. The medic might have said it to stop him from worrying. What if Smith wasn’t fine? What if Fal’ran had ignored him and killed him? Fal’ran dragged a hand over his face and sat up. That couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have…
He needed to know.
He forced himself to stand, and his vision swam at the sudden movement. The medic had said that was normal. Scrubbing at his eyes, he pulled open a locker.
They’d cut his uniform off in the medical tent to assess his injuries. Once they’d realized he’d miraculously walk away from the incident—unlike the man with the totems—they’d run a few more tests and discharged him. The nurse had sent him to this building to find an extra uniform, instead of walking through Training Camp Pel’on in a backless gown, as he returned to his squad tent.
But Fal’ran didn’t want to return to his tent. He didn’t want to see the faces of his teammates after what he’d done. They’d been doing well in the Trial. They hadn’t been the first squad down, they’d stolen another totem, they’d kept their qeshian scientist alive. They’d have earned good points.
Until Fal’ran had reached for more and blown up himself and his captain.
But now he was hiding, and that didn’t make it any better. He shrugged off the flimsy hospital gown and grabbed a pair of musty uniform pants about his size. He’d pulled them on over his bare skin and reached for a shirt when the door crashed open.
Fal’ran spun around.
Smith.
Something in Fal’ran’s soul fell to pieces to see him standing in the doorway, whole and unharmed, his chest heaving, his blue eyes sharp and clear. Fal’ran hadn’t killed him. He was okay.
At least, for some meaning of the word.
Fal’ran swallowed as emotions raged across Smith’s handsome face. Relief. Relief so strong he sagged with it, his hand tightening on the doorframe to hold himself up. Fal’ran’s throat cramped with guilt at how badly he’d made his captain worry. He dropped the shirt in his hand and turned to him.
But then the relief gave way to anger and Fal’ran froze. Fury swelled Smith to ten times his normal size. His acrid scent filled the building, his eyes blazed, and a red flushed up his neck that was nothing like the adorable blush Fal’ran liked to put there. Smith slammed the door shut and stalked forward.
Fal’ran stumbled back. “Captain.”
“I’m not your fucking captain anymore.” Smith tore off his jacket and threw it on the floor at Fal’ran’s bare feet.
Fal’ran’s heart crumpled. Where once Smith’s captain’s stripes had blazoned across the fabric, was a large rip and the remnants of threads. He looked back up at Smith to see him still advancing, and he recoiled until his shoulders hit the cold metal of the lockers. “I’m—”
“A fucking bastard.” Smith slammed his palm beside Fal’ran’s face, and the metallic bang lanced through Fal’ran’s pounding head. “You know that? You couldn’t listen to me for once in your life? You couldn’t just fucking trust me?”
“I trust you!” Fal’ran shoved Smith away, the shouting, the overwhelming smell of rage, and the pain triggering his fight response.
“No.” Smith grabbed Fal’ran’s wrists and twisted them around to fix them against the lockers beside Fal’ran’s head. “You don’t. You never have. And when it fucking mattered, you did whatever the fuck you wanted and fuck me, right?”
“I’m sorry,” Fal’ran snarled, straining against Smith’s hold on his wrists. “I—” he grunted and stopping struggling when Smith dug his fingertips into the joints. “—I fucked up, alright?”
“You nearly killed yourself!” Smith squeezed Fal’ran’s wrists, and his voice broke. Heartbreaking agony flooded Fal’ran’s nose. Fuck. Smith was hurting. Fal’ran had hurt him.
Fal’ran hooked a leg around Smith’s and spun them around to reverse their positions. He pressed Smith up against the hard metal, pinning him with his larger body. “But I didn’t.”
“Fal’ran—” Smith’s body tensed, so Fal’ran grabbed his face with both hands and tipped it up.
“I didn’t die.” Fal’ran stared into Smith’s blue eyes—so piercing and so fucking beautiful and so full of outrage and fear. He dug his fingertips into Smith’s strong jaw. “I’m alright.”
Smith’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and when Fal’ran pressed their foreheads together, he closed his eyes. “Why didn’t you listen to me?”
“Because I’m an idiot.” Fal’ran had no better reason than that. It hadn’t been because he didn’t trust Smith. It hadn’t been because he thought he knew better or because he didn’t think Smith cared. “Because I only had one shot, and I didn’t want to miss it.”
“You can’t live like that, Fal’ran.” Smith’s eyes opened, and he grabbed Fal’ran’s wrists. He tugged on them, but Fal’ran fought him. “Not anymore.”
“I know.” Fal’ran inhaled Smith’s scent. The acrid fury had gone, but his smell still throbbed with something pent up and vicious. “It—”
