the unwilling astronaut's unreal wife

Fifteen aviators. Ten days.

"NASA can never have enough research." Your steps are slow, careful. Still not one of them takes their eyes off the projector screen. You can't see any of their faces. "And we thought you guys would be the best candidates for it."

One click. 'LONG TERM EFFECTS OF HIGH GRAVITY EXPOSURE' fills the screen. It's a simple title, pretty straightforward, if you do say so yourself. And if you didn't have at least ten of their co-operation, you could go home fully unaccomplished.

"I know you guys are all about call signs, so it makes sense that I do this too, right? You guys can call me, Rudy." The podium is at least five feet tall. Damn it, if you stand behind it you're gonna look like a middle schooler at her graduation. It's practical that you turn. "Don't ask me where I got it, I won't tell. Unless you ask really nicely."

The joke lands. You can hear a few snickers here and there.

"Now, for the next week days, I am here to brush you up on your aviation physiology. I'm going to give you some basic pointers that will help you keep your health and your job for a longer time," Jack gives you a tiny nod of approval. You breathe a sigh of relief before turning to the only two women in the group, sitting to your left, "which research shows that most of you ignore or forget."

There's a sharp breath of air on the other side. You raise your eyebrows quizzically before turning right back to the edge.

Damn it, this was going to be hard.

Abbot's forehead scrunches up. Known you for barely six months and yet somehow, he knows your 'deer in headlights' look very well. He makes his way over to the centre.

"And I'm her boss, Jack Abbot and I don't do nicknames. So, why don't you guys introduce yourself?" He takes the podium and God, he looks like he belongs. "Ladies first?"

There's a soft scoff as you turn back to the women.

"Callie Basset, call sign, Halo." The one at the ends starts.

"Natasha Trace, Phoenix."

"Bob Floyd... Uhm—" The man beside her, a cute blond with glasses, gets up slowly, then looks around before sitting back down "—they just call me Bob."

A chuckle makes its way out of you. "That's... very original."

Then at the other end, he stands, as confident and cocky as always. Well, almost always. "Jake Seresin, Hangman."

He sits back down. There's a flicker of surprise in your eyes as well as a mutter of disbelief at the lack of embellishments. The guy next to him stands up awkwardly sensing something just as acutely.

That must be Coyote then.

"Javy Machado, I'm Coyote."

You give him a small smile that he returns, fist bumping mentally at the correct guess. But his eyes are then set on his friend slouching beside him.

A few names go on.

Payback, Fanboy, Fritz, Yale, Rooster—

Abbot's dismay at his name pulls you from your haze. "Bradley Bradshaw? Did your parents hate you or something?"

There's a barely there smirk on his face. "No, sir. But I'm told my dad was a practical jokester of sorts."

You snicker before snagging on the word 'was'. In the corner of your eye, you see him, watching.

Oh, maybe it was going to be a long ten days.

Virginia Beach [two years ago]

The elevator doors open very, very slowly. You would have considered the stairs if it wasn't so damn hot already. Stupid summer.

And speaking of hot, the guy inside is not bad. Not bad at all. Or he could be, if he looked up from his damn phone.

"Rudy!"

Ugh, you could just kill Santos. Of course, she calls you that stupid nickname in front of this very handsome stranger. You give her an exaggerated roll of your eyes, holding the elevator door as you step in and turn. "What?"

"Get chocolate chips." She yells from the other end of the hallway. "I'm making my special tomorrow."

"Okay, okay!"

As the doors close, you slouch against the wooden panel. Blown through and through.

"So, what's the special?" You turn towards the tall man, who flashing you a brilliant smile. Oh, that has his attention.

"Oh, uhm—" you fumble with your set of keys for a second,"— pretty sure it's chocolate chip pancakes."

"Sounds good, mind if I join?" His eyes are green, and teeth a bit crooked. Wow. But definitely not enough to invite a stranger to breakfast. He laughs as you gape. "Don't worry, it's a joke. Maybe."

You force a flustered smile onto your face. "Yeah, sure."

"So, neighbour," he pauses looking you up and down, "what do you do?"

The strap around your shoulder feels like it's digging into your skin. You adjust it before you answer. "I'm a doctor."

He raises one eye brow. "Like 'save people' doctor or 'grad paper' doctor?"

"Like 'I work at a hospital' doctor." You huff lightly. "Have you ever heard of a PhD saying their job was doctor?"

His grin widens at your slight annoyance. "You could've been the first."

You're caught in his light coloured eyes and ding! The elevator doors start creaking open interrupting the moment. "Sorry to disappoint."

"You haven't disappointed me. Yet." His eyes crinkle at the edges as he holds that cheshire cat smile.

"Well, nice to meet you, neighbour." You give a small smile.

"Hangman— Jake." He corrects, the top of his ears a shade of pink."

Your smile turns teasing. "Was that first one your real name?"

He smirks, catching himself. "You'll have to find out, Rudy."

North Island

So, morale booster, Jack Abbot has given everyone the first day off. And asked them the best place for a drink.

That is why at seven-o'clock, Hangman is standing in the Hard Deck nursing a light beer. Coyote gave him so much shit about that. And about the meeting. But there was no way in hell they were discussing this with everyone else around. Especially with everyone else around.

You walk in, right behind your boss' feet, sticking to him like a fly in a glue trap. Jake couldn't help but feel that he was the glue trap.

"So," your boss, Abbot begins, "This is what you do for fun around here."

He holds out a hand for a pool cue and Fanboy hands it over without comment. Abbot settles it on the table, and aims at the orange ball that sits near the corner pocket. Slam!

It goes in. Good. But not as good as him. "You wanna play, doc?"

Abbot smirks as he answers. "Don't mind if I do. You're stripes, I'm solids?"

"Rack 'em up, Bob." Jake says without taking his eyes off the old man.

"They can rack it up themselves, Bob." You speak up from behind him, earning a small 'ooooh' from Phoenix. "Don't trouble yourself."

Of course, the first thing you say and it's the start of an argument. Jake smiles to himself as Bob shakes his head, one hand pushing up his glasses. "Oh, I don't mind."

You brush past him to the other side. To your boss. "Then neither should they."

"Okay, kid." Abbot rolls his eyes at you with some sort of affection that chafes at the hole inside him. It's horrible that someone else—

He shouldn't do this.

He tried.

You didn't want to.

It ends there.

"Anybody wanna play this?" In his periphery, he can see you pick up a few darts off the table. He strains his gaze back to Abbot who lines up for the first shot after lining them up.

"Yeah, I'm game." Rooster, who has never been interested in any competitive sorry in his sorry ass life, perks up. Asshole.

"Shit." Nothing falls from Abbot's hit. It's his turn. Oh, this old man was going down.

"I'm not much of a player though, okay?" He can hear you muttering in the background. Low enough that you don't want him to hear, but loud enough to not let anyone else know. "You go easy on me."

"Don't worry. I'm not good at it either. This is Hangman's game."

Clash! Thunk!

"That's pretty good for a newbie." Phoenix walks over, looking over your shoulder.

You always did well under horrible circumstances. While Jake, on the other hand, is sure this is going to be the worst game of his life.

—

It continues to be the worst game for well over the last half hour. The only thing working in his advantage is how the other man is always shifting his weight to the left, which puts his hits a bit off the trajectory.

You, on the other hand, are what you have always been. Warm, funny, comfortable even despite the cracks in your voice. He's pretty sure everyone likes you by this point. Hell, who wouldn't?

It takes him some time, but he gets the upper edge. He just has the eight ball left while Abbot has two more.

"I know you said don't ask but how'd you get the name Rudy?" Payback's the one asking, despite your warning. He knows you'll tell them. Not everything but enough. You don't need to though.

Bob sinks down in his chair. "Yeah, you don't seem very—"

Clash!

He over calculated. Fuck. The white ball falls in too. Abbot whistles. "So close."

"I bet it's a long, long story." Jake ignores him, balancing his chin on the pool cue, looking past him. You meet his eyes for a moment, a frazzled moment, before turning away.

He knows that look. It's the one that says, I'll embarrass myself so nobody else gets the chance. Shit, he was just trying to support you.

"Actually, it's a pretty simple thing." You shrug, taking the last sip of your beer. "My roommate found me crying after a bad day, nose all red like Rudolph. And over time, she got too lazy, so it got shortened to Rudy."

"Whoa..." Fanboy sighs. "That would be a really cool backstory for somebody."

Rooster leans down by your side. "What were you crying about?"

You let out a tired laugh as you stand. "I don't remember. It just stuck."

Liar.

"Another round of beers before I head out? Everybody?" There's a faint murmur of agreement around but most people are already gone. Well, except the dagger squad. And Coyote.

"I'll help." What is he doing? It's very clear that you didn't want to talk to him. Fine. He didn't want to talk to you either. Yet, after you reach Penny and order, it feels like a different story. "So..."

"So?" You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, questioning, and somehow warm.

"I wouldn't have said anything."

"About the name?" It's insane how much you still get him. You raise your eyebrows at him, your fingers curling around the other. "It's not a big deal."

"Yeah," he scoffs, "sure."

"Okay." You roll your eyes. It's a sharp movement like you can't wait to get away. Just as Penny places eight beers in front of you, you pick up four. "I'm not here because of that night. You didn't win, you know?

Jake just quietly shakes his head for a moment. "Oh, I know."

You nod before you move away.

Virginia Beach

"You look horrible." Jake says as you get into the elevator, taking out his headphones. He's in navy shorts and a grey tank. You look away, obviously.

You rub your still sleepy eyes, and try to smoothen your hair out. "Yeah, I'm not a morning person, that's why I stick to the night shift."

"Yeah, I can see that." He rolls the airbuds in his hands once. "You need coffee."

"I hate coffee." You roll your shoulders back. People have the judgiest looks when you say this. But Jake just looks shocked.

His mouth drops open in disbelief. "Nobody hates coffee."

You shrug lightly. "I just keep disappointing, don't I?"

"Yeah, you're weirding me out right now." He frowns in disbelief, putting the airbuds back into their case. "Just when I wanted to take you out to that cafe too."

You laugh out once. "You're serious?"

"I was." He shrugs.

"Sure." You tilt your head to the side, eyeing him up and down. "So, you're one of those guys, aren't you?"

He leans back a bit surprised. "What guys?"

"Guys that get up at the crack of dawn to work out."

"You know what?" He shakes his head slowly this time. "You're so right. Except I was just a tiny bit late today."

"Yeah, seven a.m. You need to be more disciplined, Jake."

The doors creak open as you walk out. He chuckles. "You have no idea, Rudy."

-

It's the afternoon. Actually, you like to call it vampire nap time because that's when you poor night shift people sleep. You just want the person on the other side of the door to spontaneously combust at this point.

The bells rings once more as you open the door, razzled and too fast that it slams against the wall.

"Jesus!" Jake huffs. "Are you okay?"

You force your eyes open to notice that he's the one holding a hand weirdly, in a dish towel. And it looks like dried blood is on the other one. "What happened to your hand?"

"What do you think, doc?" He opens the dish towel to show a nasty gash on his right forearm. "Am I going to die?"

You take his hand in yours, tracing the puckered skin. It's a deep wound, non-fatal but incredibly prone to infection open like this. "You need stitches. You'll need to go to the E.D."

"Then I gotta then submit reports to the V.A and all." He winces as he covers the wound back. "It's a mess, Rudy. You sure you can't just help me out?"

You take one long looks at him. Of course, being a doctor entailed this. Bandaging up a neighbour after a night of possible vigilantism. "Only if you tell me what happened."

"Bar fight. Got too excited about the Longhorns.

You scoff as you move to the side gesturing him in. "Cowboy forgot he was in Virginia, did he?"

"Yep." He turns around eyeing the grey couch. "So, where should I sit?"

"At the table please. Fair warning, it might be a mess after breakfast." You walk straight into your bedroom. "I'm going to get the sterile suture kit."

When you come back, he's steadily eyeing the photo wall that you and Trinity set up. A lot of drunken karaoke, belly shot photos in that. "She seems fun."

"She is." You swipe a few crumbs away before setting the kit and rubbing alcohol down. "She just prefers wearing the hat, though."

Jake turns to you with a small smirk. "Jealous already?"

"Oh, please." You huff dabbing the alcohol on gauze. "Just managing your expectations."

You turn to find his eyes on you, intensely set on your hands. "Now, I don't have any local anaesthetic because I'm not a drug dealer. You can take ibuprofen if you want but it won't really help much."

"I can handle it, doc. Go ahead." He leans back in his chair, a deep breath in.

You shrug once. "So, I'm going to sterilize the area, okay? This is going to sting."

He takes on one sharp gasp of air and makes no other sound.

"Good. Now, you can breathe, don't want you to pass out." You pat his forearm. He seems to relax under your words. "So, military man, huh? What do you do, Jake?"

"Really? You're asking me that now, doc? After all this time?" He shakes his head moving away, a slight tinge of mischief in his eyes. Your needle nearly pierces slightly more skin than it needed.

"Okay, if you can't answer without moving, then you shouldn't." The joking tone vanishes out of the room as you respond sharply. If you didn't suture this right, the scar he would have would be way nastier.

"Hey, doc? This your first time?" He asks so softly at your aggression that you look up at him, incredulous.

"What makes you say that?"

"You seem nervous." He shrugs. "I'm not judging, I just need to know if I'm your guinea pig."

You take the bite necessary. And complete four stiches before you answer. His breathing deepens but he stays still. "I've been working in Virginia for two years. As you cowboys say, this ain't my first rodeo. This isn't even my worst."

"So, it's just me?" The sarcastic edge is back in his voice. "Am I making you nervous?"

"You have a truly inflated sense of self, don't you?" About seven more left.

"Oh yeah, doc. Definitely." His grin is present even as you make another stitch. But his muscles tighten. His neck looks taught. "You don't get to be one of the only pilots with a confirmed air to air kill in the Navy without it."

You stop before making the next one. "You gotta relax, Jake. Otherwise you're gonna pull these."

He takes in another deep breath yet again and looks out the window behind you.

"So, you're a naval aviator?"

He turns back to you. "City girl knows her military vocabulary, huh?"

You smile up at him lightly. "Just watched Top Gun."

"For Tom Cruise in his underwear?" He laughs as you make a disapproving noise at his movement.

"Well, you wouldn't watch Top Gun for Ryan Gosling, would you?"

He laughs loud again. Huh. He does kinda look like Ryan Gosling.

"Jake, stop laughing. I just got two more stiches left." He settled down at your words, lips still turned up.

"Okay, Dr. Rudy."

You raise your eyebrows as you make one more stitch. "You really think that's my last name?"

"Well, if it's your first, your parents must have hated you." Jake stretches his neck back and forth as you work.

"I can see why you'd think that." You take the last bite of skin. "It's actually a nickname."

"Really?" He asks, very seriously.

"Yeah. My name is way more normal." You finish the stitch as you tell him your name.

He looks at you green eyes wide. "Then why do they call you that? You don't seem very rude."

You pat his shoulder as you get up, cleaning around the wounds and stitches once more much to his discomfort. You place down the gauze and begin wrapping it.

"It's just one of those things that stick." You decide to just tuck the cotton in the corner. He stretches completely this time. "Don't pull that! You're all done, lieutenant."

He looks you earnestly in the eye as he gets up. "Well, thank you, doctor."

North Island

"You might hate the name, but fighter pilots' neck affects all military aviators. And it is the most profound cause of cervical disc degeneration."

"As you all know, when you pull multiple Gs on every flight, eight to nine ones on the worst ones where you have to execute vertical climbs, sharp turns, and dogfight maneuvers. You might have done this at least once before."

The screen shifts in front of you to show an intense and famous targeted strength conditioning that prepared their necks for lateral extensions.

"Now, none of you tell me you don't know who these people are."

It's Rooster who answers from the third row, right. "F1 drivers."

"The only people in the world who experience a similar strain to yours. Except they do it for much less noble reasons, of course."

Muffled laughter floats around.

"See, this training should be more than something you have done once. Research has shown that F1 drivers who practice such high-intensity neck training for one week every month have better strength and fewer injuries."

"So, you're saying we need to come back to base for training even when we're off?" Payback asks from the left.

"I'm saying for the sake of your health, find a gym that can train you in this off base, then."

There are mutters and groaning everywhere.

"Okay." You raised your hands once. "You might think that this is not that important. But I've seen your reports. Hell, this is a one-hour session and Phoenix has rolled her shoulders more than four times, Fanboy has stretched his neck more times than that, and Jake—"

You both startle at the same time, eyes locked on one another before you realise that you need to complete your sentence. "Hangman has cracked his neck twice. You might think this is a joke. Well, guess what, I'm not the one with the C-spine strength of a fifty-year-old."

"So, yeah, it's your choice. Suffer at the gym and continue in the job you love, or I'll say nice words in your eulogy about a radical disc collapse."

Jack shakes his head from the back. Okay, enough scaring everyone for today. "That's it for today. We'll see you Monday to discuss the cardiovascular effects you experience. Thank you."

And you're really too busy gathering your notes to notice when he steps into your space. "It's nice to see you still care. I thought you were ignoring me."

You let out a soft sigh. "It's a bold assumption when it's only been two days."

"Still. I know you."

"Bye, Hangman." You let out a half-hearted hum as you walk away. You can hear Coyote behind you going 'Jake' in a sing-songy tone.

Virginia Beach

You're late.

Jake had checked his mail twice. Usually, the time you got back from your shift was the time he went running now. There was nothing special about eight a.m. except maybe him threatening you with coffee while you rolled your eyes and said that you'd stick to tea.

Maybe you took the day shift today. You had probably left early, then. He lets out a soft sigh as he places the buds back into his ears and walks out the door to smack into you.

"Shit! You okay?"

"Owww..." You mutter as you rub your shoulder. "What are you made of, a bag of rocks?"

"Wait, lemme hold this." He takes the nearly empty box of donuts from you. "Don't tell me you carried this all the way from work because you wanted to be eco-friendly."

"Haha, very funny." With something that could easily be mistaken as fondness, you take the box back from him and open it. "No, I saved this one for you. I hope you like Boston cream, though."

"My favorite. We should get married now." He tried not to show his disgust at the cream-filled confectionery. On any other day, he would've gotten a bear claw. "What's the special occasion?"

"It's my birthday."

He almost chokes on the one half-stuffed into his mouth. "What?"

"Yeah, I'm a big girl. Well, woman." You shrug with a little smile. "And now, I can dump this in the trash."

You fold the cardboard into something that he would never have the patience to do, something that takes up much less space than before, and chuck it into the recycling bin.

"And how old is this big girl?" Using the back of his hand, Jake wiped the remnants of cream from the corners of his mouth.

You let out a loud gasp, placing a hand over your chest. "Didn't your mama teach you never to ask a lady's age, cowboy?"

"Yeah, she did. Unless it's going to be on a candle on a cake." Jake put the rest of the donut into his mouth and watched you wait for him to swallow it. "You have a party planned?"

"Trin—my friend does. Something simple at home because I'm too old for a bar crawl." You roll your eyes fondly. "Saturday, though. I have work tonight."

He wiped his fingers on his shorts. "Jesus, it's your birthday."

"Says the guy who might not even be home for his birthday." You shake your head at him, handing him a tissue. Damn, you were well prepared. "You should stop by."

"To the party?" His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline before he reels himself in. "But won't it be a bunch of your friends?"

You nudge him with your elbow. "What, you don't think you can handle a few medical doctors playing charades?"

"Oh, them, I can handle." He makes a dismissing wave with his hand to hide the way he swallows. "I don't know about whether they can handle me."

Your fingers tighten around the bag strap. "I'm sure they'll be graced by your awesomeness."

He chuckles. "Sure, then."

—

"Yo." A woman with dark hair and striking blue eyes opens the door.

"Hey..." The greeting is elongated as he strains his neck to see if you're around.

"Can I help you?" The woman—Trin, clearly—holds the door tightly, not giving him much of a view.

"I'm your neighbour." Oh, he sees what this is. She thinks he's being a creep. "I'm Jake."

That shifts something in her. "You're the pilot?"

"Aviator." He corrects, then wonders what difference it would make to her. "But sure."

"Rudy said you might stop by. You just missed the song." She opens the door finally, stepping aside. He almost trips over the footwear outside as he gets in. Oh, damn it. He's late. You had said around eight. Eight-thirty was clearly late.

The apartment is the same as before, with a slightly warm-lighted twist of electric candles and medical books being stuffed into the corner instead of being spread on the table. There are two men and about five women that he sees inside. You're by the feet of the couch, chin resting on the coffee table as a kid acts something out. You seem thoroughly invested in the game.

"Super! No, good!" The other girl gestures for you to keep going. "Well? Nice? Amazing? Wait, nice? Nice! Okay, the second word now!"

And suddenly, without context, the brunette playing takes one look at Jake and points to him and the other guys around. But your eyes stay on him. "You came!"

His lips curl up into a genuine smile. "Yeah, of course—"

The girl claps her hands for your attention back as the dark-haired guy whistles. "And ten... nine..."

"Wait, I got this." You say, nudging him with your elbow. "Nice men? Nice guys? The Nice Guys!"

The girl shrieks from beside him and rushes to tackle you in a hug while Trinity taps her on the back. "You got it together, Crash. Proud of you."

So, Trinity was the one with an affinity for nicknames. You slowly release yourself from the hug and cross the room to wrap him in one. "Hey. You made it."

You lead him to the centre of the room. "Guys, this is Jake. Jake, the guys."

You rattle off names from one end of the couch, but he's looking at glitter that has shifted from your eyelids to your cheeks. He's just a bit startled as you turn to him. "You want some cake?"

He doesn't even get a chance to answer as you drag him across to the kitchen. "I hope you like chocolate."

"Are you kidding me? Who doesn't like chocolate?"

You snicker while placing an already cut piece onto a paper plate. "My mom."

Just as he takes the plate, the box in his pocket shifts. "Wait, uhm... I got you something."

"You shouldn't have." The whisper is playful, and he understands the subtext: yeah, you absolutely should have and now I'm going to judge you based on it. He digs out the small box from his back pocket.

"I didn't really have an idea what to get you... So..."

You take the box, treating it as if it were a fragile thing, stroking the velvet once before opening it. Your eyes light up as you fail to hide the grin tugging at your lips. "Wow, you know it's my birthday, right?"

"Yeah, I know. I thought it was cute."

You tilt your head as you take the silver chain out of the box. "You know, Taylor Swift and Harry Styles had one each to signify their relationship."

He inclines sideways to the same angle as you. "Are you saying I should get one?"

"Easy, cowboy. It's a fact." You say a bit breathlessly as you take off the clasp, holding it out to him.

He places the cake down, taking the necklace in both hands. "Thought it'd be nice. This way, you can always remember your annoying upstairs neighbour."

"Yeah," you murmur as you turn around, moving the hair off your neck. "An airplane, very subtle."

His fingers ghost over your skin, which is slightly abnormally red, acutely aware of the heat radiating from you as he fixes it. "I'm shipping out in two weeks, you know."

"That's fast." You take in a sharp breath. When you turn back, the pendant is crooked on your chest. He gently pulls it down to straighten it.

"Not really, it's been three months."

You fiddle with the necklace almost immediately. "How long will it be?"

"You miss me already, sweetheart?" He chuckles, pleased. You roll your eyes, eyebrows narrowing at him.

"Jake."

Stepping back, he retreats immediately at the steel in your voice. "Six months."

You exhale tiredly. "I'll probably move out in two months."

"What? Why?"

"My mom's coming to visit. She's going to be staying a month and the space isn't here. Besides, I needed to move out a long time ago."

Jake folds his arms, taking a step back. "Well, why didn't you?"

"It was, you know, comfortable. I don't wanna leave here. But it's too expensive to afford alone."

Wait. That's it.

"Then don't."

You raise your eyebrows quizzically at him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying what you think I'm saying." He steps forward, lips twitching at the corner. "Move in with me."

"We've known each other for barely three months. You can't be serious?"

He uncrosses his arms, leaning with one hand on the counter. "As a heart attack. Look, it's not a proposal, it's practical. I can't just leave my apartment like that for half a year, so, yeah. You move in. You can take the guest room, there's barely anything in there. Your mom can take my room when she visits. And the house isn't covered in dust when I get back. Win-win."

"You think that's a good idea?" You tilt back a bit.

"I think it's the best idea."

You wrap your arms around yourself, and he's almost sure that you'll say no. "There's a lot of logistics to be worked out in two weeks."

He can feel himself going warm all over. "Then we better get started fast."

You shake your head, pulling him to the other room. "Not before I beat your ass in Pictionary, Hangman."

North Island

"What was it that you called it?" You pant out, bending down to catch your breath.

"Dogfight football," Bob answers, looking extremely nice despite the fact that you all had been playing ruthlessly for the past hour. You were so done. "I don't even get the rules."

Phoenix jogs up by your side. "Nobody does, they just want the ball."

"That sounds like a surefire way for me to practice some of my emergency medicine skills."

"Wait, emergency medicine?" She stops dead in her tracks. "You're a doctor?"

You scoff, but it comes out as a heavy exhale as you straighten. "I'm sorry, was it not clear over the billion slides of human physiology I explained?"

"We thought you were a researcher," Bob chips in, taking a hand through his hair to get out the mud. "You're from NASA, right? Are you a flight surgeon, then?"

"Not yet. I'm still thinking about it." You wipe your brow on the back of your hand.

"Does Jake know?" The curiosity in her voice is very clear.

"I don't know." You cross your arms. "You'd have to ask him that."

Bob takes the staredown between you two as a cue to get back into the game.

"We asked." Phoenix crosses her arms in front of her chest. "For someone who can't stop talking about himself, Hangman was weirdly evasive."

You sigh, wondering how much was yours to say, how much was his. Maybe you should say nothing at all to a stranger you met a few days ago. "It's not my place to say."

"Uh huh." She tilts her sunglasses forward on her nose to give you a look.

"Hey! Phoenix, Rudy! You guys playing or what?" Halo calls out, clearly chuffed at being the only girl left in the game.

"You guys go ahead." You turn to walk away from the game as all the guys groan. "I'm gonna get a beer."

You move to where Jack is lounging beside your tote. "You're not having fun?"

Even though there's an inflection of a question, you know it's an observation.

"Yeah, it's not my game." You pull down your coverup. "I'm gonna get a drink. You want one?"

"You're going to have to talk if we're going to do this whole thing." You can feel his gaze wearing you down. "Otherwise, this is going to get too personal in the middle."

You turn away with a mock salute. "I'm gonna take that as a no, sir."

—

The Hard Deck is peaceful. You give Penny a wave before you sit at a booth on the edge, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. Penny notices Jake coming in before you.

"Hangman, if you drag any more sand into my bar, I'm gonna throw you out."

He raises both his hands in surrender. "Don't worry, Penny, I thoroughly shook the sand off on the doorstep."

You snort into your beer and wait for the others to come in. But no one else does.

"You want a drink?" Penny asks him in your background. But he shakes his head.

"No, I gotta drive. Thanks, though."

He approaches you slowly, giving you more than enough time to get up and away from him. But you don't. And he settles into the seat in front of you. "Hey."

"Hey." You manage to give him a smile. Or at least a pathetic attempt at it.

It must have been pathetic enough to notice. "Drunk after your first beer, sweetheart?"

"Just tired, Hangman." You down the last of your beer in one gulp. "And I should probably go now."

"Listen, wait—Rudy, you need a ride?"

You sigh, tucking your hair into a crusty bun. "The hotel's just five minutes away. I'll get a cab. It's no problem."

"I'll drop you." He waves his keys in front of your face. And it looks to you like you have no choice but to follow. "Come on."

The truck looks exactly as you had seen it. Big, with darkly tinted windows and a heavy frame. The door weighs you down as you open it, and you have to step on the support to get in. He doesn't even try to help you because he knows. He knows how much it would piss you off.

"Where are you staying?"

"The Ramada." The studs look like yellow stars on a dimly lit road.

He whistles once. "Fancy."

"It's what they gave us." You shrug. He knows that you hate hotel rooms and how they feel. It's a minute before you talk again, before you feel like the silence is more jarring than the situation you're in. "I'm sorry about your dad."

He looks over like he didn't quite expect this turn of conversation. It takes him a moment to smooth out his face. "Thanks. I got the flowers."

You both know that the gesture was as flat as his tone. You should've been there. Maybe. Maybe you should've stayed far away so as not to add to his grief.

"I heard about your mom," he says after a beat. He glances at you, eyebrows raised. "How's she doing?"

Scores settled, then. God, you two were perfect.

"Good. Physio's a bitch, but she's working through it." You sweep a stray strand behind your ear, thinking about how you'd need to call her. It was seven, though; she might be in the middle of dinner.

Somewhere along the road, you realise that it's definitely not five minutes to the hotel. Jake breathes a bit harder before he talks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You crack your knuckles. Of course. Of course he'd take the opportunity to ask that. It's the question that had been looming around this whole time, the one you thought you had already answered. "I told you, I'm still gonna go back."

"Bullshit, Rudy." His voice is harder, even harsher than he expected from the look in his eyes. But you knew that this was coming. You just wanted him to force the rest of the words out. "If you wanted to go back, you wouldn't have taken it."

"Yeah, well, I'm not staying."

He takes his eyes off the road to take a long look at you, then turns back, chuckling dryly. "This is about us, isn't it? This is about you thinking that I won because you're here."

"I told you." You wring your wrist, looking straight ahead. You can see the gate of the hotel. "You didn't."

"Trust me." He grips both hands at ten and two on the wheel. "I would've lost you either way that night."

There's a silence that feels like smoke between you as he pulls into the parking lot. It feels heavy enough that you might choke if you don't talk.

"After mom's stroke." You shouldn't feel like this. You shouldn't feel like explaining your choices to him. You didn't owe him that, right? Yet, here you were. "It was hard at first. The schedules were a nightmare. I was barely home, and she felt all alone."

"So, I decided I would do something about it. At least until she got better."

His breathing evens out a little as he reaches over for a hand that you freely give. "I'm sorry, sweet—Rudy. I should've called. You didn't respond to my voicemail and I thought—it doesn't matter, I should've called."

"Oh. Oh." You realise you said that out loud when he turns to you with wide eyes. "I—I have to go. I'm sorry, I have to go. Good night, Jake."

He scoffs as he takes his hand away from you. "Yeah, good night."