Page 14 of Honeyfires

"You log things."

"I'm a librarian." She propped her chin in one hand. "Everything gets cataloged. You're in the system now." A beat passed. "On a scale of normal post-shift to actually terrible, where are we tonight?"

I looked at her across the table. The violet glasses. The messy knot. The unhurried patience on a face I couldn't have looked away from if I'd tried.

"Seven," I said honestly. "Maybe a six and a half."

She nodded. No sharp intake of breath. No oh my god. Just: noted. "Tell me what happened. Only if you want to."

I turned the mug in my hands. "Wind shifted on us. We were cutting line in the canyon and the fire turned. Started moving up the wall faster than the briefing had it. Our safety zone got very small, very fast." I paused. "I pulled the crew out."

She was quiet, listening.

"Stevens took some superheated air during the pull-back. He's okay. But it was—" I stopped. "It got close."

"Close to Stevens, or close to you?"

I was silent for a moment.

"Both," I said.

She didn't react with alarm. Didn't tip into the civilian pattern of horror-to-reassurance that forced me into managing their response instead of my own. She just looked at me steadily, without flinching. Like whatever I said next was something she had the capacity to hold.

"I'm still here," I said. Half fact. Half something I needed to say out loud.

"You are," she agreed. "I noticed."

I took a sip of tea. The shaking was lessening, the adrenaline metabolizing on its normal schedule, my body finally downshifting. It always happened this way. Tonight it felt faster than usual, and I suspected that had something to do with the unique tenderness and attention of the person sitting across from me.

"I drink sometimes," I said. "After bad ones. You should know that."

"I know now," she said simply.

"It's not—" I stopped. Tried again. "It's less than it used to be. I'm working on it. But I'm not going to pretend it's not a thing."

"Thank you for telling me."

I stared at her. "You're very strange, you know that?"

"I've been told." She tilted her head. "How so, to you specifically?"

"Normal people would've said it's fine or something."

"Would that have helped?"

I thought about it. "No."

"Then why would I say it?"

I had no answer for that. I finished half my tea in silence, and she let me, which was also the right thing, and I was starting to suspect she had an uncanny ability to know what the right thing was before she did it.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Always."

"Why are you actually awake right now?" I looked at her. The glasses, slightly askew. The pajama shorts, which had the Powerpuff Girls on them and were objectively not loungewear designed for midnight social calls. "You're in Powerpuff Girls pajamas at midnight. That implies a person who goes to sleep at a reasonable hour."

She was quiet for a moment.