Page 15

CHAPTER 15

E cho luxuriated in the confines of the small hospital shower. The hot water bounced off her shoulders and cascaded down her back, soothing the ache in her muscles. The antiseptic-smelling shampoo she’d been given foamed in her hair as she scrubbed it clean, the scent sharp and clinical. She had to bend awkwardly to wash her long hair, a reminder that she towered over the locals at five foot ten. The shower stall was barely big enough to accommodate her, and the cramped space made her movements clumsy.

She whacked her elbow on the tiled wall, and the soap she’d been holding shot out of her hand like a bar of oiled ice. It hit the floor with a resounding thwack .

“Dammit,” she muttered, carefully squatting down to retrieve it, mindful not to knock her head on the shower head.

“Are you okay in there?” Deacon’s voice boomed through the thin bathroom door, startling her. She could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

“Yeah, I just dropped the soap,” she called back, chuckling softly. “I’d invite you in to help me find it, but, quite frankly, there isn’t enough room in here for me, let alone you .”

The shower curtain rustled as Deacon tugged it open just enough to peek his head through. His freshly washed hair was slicked back, and water dripped off the ends onto the floor. He grinned at her, his dark eyes dancing with mischief.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I think I had to wash half my body at a time in the other bathroom. But it’s good to be clean.” His grin widened into a smirk.

“Amen!” she replied, her voice light with humor. “I’ll be done in just a sec.”

“I’ll let the staff know you’ll be ready shortly.”

“Thank you.”

When they’d first arrived at the hospital, the staff ushered them straight to the showers. It was clear that this had been coordinated in advance. Echo felt profoundly grateful for the opportunity to wash away the jungle's grime, sweat, and mud. Living in field conditions had taken its toll, and while she prided herself on being tough, she couldn’t deny the sheer bliss of a hot shower. Perhaps that office chair had softened her more than she cared to admit.

The water sputtered as she turned it off and grabbed the small, stiff towel hanging nearby. It felt more like sandpaper than cotton, but she made do, patting herself dry. The scrubs she’d been given were an unflattering shade of pastel pink and at least two inches too short, exposing her ankles. She rolled her eyes at the outfit but slipped into them anyway. Function over fashion.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she found Deacon waiting for her in matching green scrubs. The pants were far too short for his tall frame, stopping at the tops of his boots. Ever resourceful, he’d tucked them into his boots, creating a look that was part combat-ready and part hospital chic.

“That’s a unique look,” she teased, her lips twitching into a smile.

He grunted, adjusting the waistband of the too-tight scrubs. “Wait until you put your boots on.”

She sighed dramatically. “Do I have to? No offense, but I'll be happy if I never see those boots again.”

He grimaced. “We’ve got clothes being delivered to the hotel. Unfortunately, until we get there, we’ll be stuck in these.” He gestured to their scrubs. “Apparently, the staff didn’t think putting our old uniforms back on and wandering around the city was a good idea.” His wry smile made her laugh.

“I’m sure I’ll survive the embarrassment of high-water scrubs.” She climbed onto the small stool at the end of the exam table and sat down, swinging her legs slightly. “You know, I really don’t need to be seen by a doctor.”

Deacon crossed the room to her in two long strides, and she instinctively spread her legs, letting him step between them. He cupped her cheek with one hand, his gaze soft but serious.

“I just want to make sure,” he said quietly. “A few tests, a couple of X-rays—just to help me sleep at night.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. She adored this man. He was so tough, absolutely brutal when he needed to be, but asking her to ease his mind by submitting to a few medical tests. Yet, her inner sarcasm wouldn’t stay hidden. She lifted her eyebrows and said, “I thought I had a way to help you sleep at night. One that doesn’t include X-rays or tests.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, her mischievous grin making him chuckle.

“Actually, we don’t sleep much. Have you noticed that?”

She tilted her head, pretending to ponder the statement. “You know, you’re right. Maybe we should spend some time apart so we can catch up on our sleep.”

He shook his head slowly, his expression one of mock seriousness. “Never gonna happen.”

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. She momentarily settled her head against his chest until she said, “It will happen. I need to go back to Virginia. I’ll be handing in my resignation when we do our outbrief, but I have to be cleared and tackle a mountain of paperwork. You’ll probably head off on another mission, right?”

He shook his head again. “Nope. I just talked to Alpha—my boss. The team will be heading back to the States. We were supposed to before the CIA mission, but we’re rotating back now for R&R, training, and re-fitting.”

“Re-fitting?” She frowned slightly, unfamiliar with the term.

“New tools, new equipment, new tech gadgets.” He shrugged, his nonchalance making her grin.

“Oh, that sounds like fun. I’ve always wanted to be on the cutting edge of tech—like your comms. I love the design and nano-engineering of things like that.”

Deacon’s expression softened as he ran his thumb gently over her bottom lip. His voice dropped, a hint of vulnerability lacing his tone. “What exactly are you looking for in a new job?”

Sighing, she leaned into his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “I’m not really sure what I want to do,” she admitted. “I think I’m going to take a few months to figure it out. I’ve got two months left on my lease in Virginia, and I’m assuming the CIA will want at least a month’s notice. That way, I can train my successor and tackle all that paperwork I mentioned.”

Deacon nodded, listening intently as she continued. “I’ve saved enough to survive in Virginia for six months—if I don’t go crazy, that is. So, I think I’m just going to let myself relax while I consider what I want for my future. Does that sound selfish?” She frowned, biting her lip as she thought about it. “It does, doesn’t it? But you know what? It’s okay to be selfish sometimes, right?” She tilted her head up, looking at him with wide, questioning eyes.

Deacon smiled down at her, his lips twitching in amusement. “Did you just talk yourself all the way around that argument?”

She nodded, a small grin forming. “Yeah, I usually do.”

He shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “You’re an amazing woman. Confusing at times, but amazing nonetheless.”

Her grin widened. “That’s always great to hear.” She tilted her head. “What about you? What do you have planned for the future?”

“Training, refitting, R&R,” he said, leaning down to kiss her lips softly. “And I was hoping to spend the R&R part with you.”

She wiggled slightly on the edge of the exam table, her smile teasing. “I’d like that. Can you come to Virginia?”

“In a fucking heartbeat.” His response was immediate, his voice low and serious. He leaned in and kissed her again, but the sound of the door opening cut them short.

Two nurses and a doctor walked in, the nurses’ cheeks pink as they avoided looking directly at the couple. Echo turned, noticing their embarrassment, and waved awkwardly, a sheepish smile on her lips.

The doctor, oblivious or indifferent to the sexual tension, barked out a series of orders in rapid-fire sentences that Echo couldn’t understand. Deacon, however, stepped forward and began conversing with the doctor, their low voices blending into the background hum of the hospital. Echo glanced between them, feeling left out of the loop as the discussion continued. Finally, the doctor scribbled something onto her chart, handed it to one of the nurses, and left the room.

Echo turned to Deacon, her brows furrowed. “What the heck just happened?”

Deacon chuckled, stepping back to her side. “He’s ordering some blood tests and scans. I think it was X-rays. Or maybe an CT. Honestly, I didn’t quite catch it all—this isn’t one of my primary languages. It’s all as a precaution because he agrees with you. If you’ve been asymptomatic for this long, you’re probably recovered.”

“See? The doctor agrees with me.” Echo sighed, her stomach grumbling loudly enough to echo in the small room. The nurse prepping the tourniquet and needle chuckled softly before speaking to Deacon. He nodded and replied, the two exchanging a few sentences while the nurse efficiently drew Echo’s blood.

“What was that about?” Echo asked, looking at Deacon as he glanced back at her.

“She wanted to know if we’d like something to eat. I told her we would appreciate anything they could scrounge up.”

Echo’s eyes brightened, and she eagerly nodded, turning back to the nurse and continuing to nod for emphasis. “Yes, please. Food. Any kind of food would be wonderful.” She paused, her expression twisting into a mock serious look. “Except MREs. I really don’t want another MRE.”

Deacon laughed and translated for the nurse, who chuckled as well. She patted Echo’s arm reassuringly before bandaging the needle site and leaving the room.

Echo was then escorted to the imaging department, Deacon trailing close behind as her translator. The cold, sterile air of the MRI room hit her immediately, sending a shiver down her spine. She lay on the narrow table, earplugs securely in place, and endured the clunking, clanging rhythm of the machine. The noise seemed to go on forever, and the room's chill seeped into her. By the time it was over, she was relieved to step back into the warmth of the hospital hallways.

A heavenly aroma wafted toward them as they returned to the small exam room. The scent of freshly cooked rice, sizzling vegetables, and braised meats filled the air. On a small table sat two trays of food, complete with two cans of soda. Echo’s stomach growled in approval, and she let out a small, satisfied groan.

They sat side by side on the edge of the exam table, eating in comfortable silence. The food was simple but delicious, and Echo savored every bite. She didn’t usually drink soda, but she wasn’t about to complain after weeks of MRE rations.

When the plates were empty, she leaned back with a contented sigh. “I wish I could ask for seconds.”

Deacon smirked, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I’d fight you for it.”

Before she could retort, the doctor returned, flipping through her chart and launching into another discussion with Deacon. This time, Deacon paused often, asking for clarification. The doctor slowed his speech and eventually nodded with understanding. He finished with a smile and a wink at Echo before leaving the room.

Deacon turned to her and extended his hand. “You’ve been cleared. There are some microfractures from the CPR, and they might bother you occasionally, but they’ll heal completely.”

Echo let out a relieved breath as she took his hand. “Well, that’s good news.” She smirked. “Now, does this mean I’m officially done with doctors for a while?”

Deacon grinned. “We’ll see. There’s no sign of infection in your body, and your lungs look clear,” Deacon explained as they walked toward the exit. “The doctor said to follow up with a mental health check-up when we get back to the States.”

She stopped in her tracks, tilting her head up to look at him with narrowed eyes. “Mental health?”

“When I explained that you’d drowned, had CPR, and were brought back to life, he indicated that mental health access should be routine. Which,” Deacon added, leveling a steady gaze at her, “I agree with. And no,” he said preemptively, “I didn’t tell him about your night terrors.”

Echo tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling in exasperation. “They’re getting better,” she muttered defensively.

“You shouldn’t have them at all,” Deacon countered smoothly, his tone calm but unyielding. “It was a traumatic experience.”

She turned her gaze back to him, her brows knitting together. “Which is why you think I need to talk to someone.”

“That’s exactly why. Besides, I know a guy.” His voice softened, but his expression remained resolute.

Echo narrowed her eyes and sighed. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

“Not if you don’t want me to tell the CIA that you’re having night terrors.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He cocked an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Unless you promise me you’ll see someone? I absolutely would.”

Her groan was laced with resignation. “You know a guy, huh?” She folded her arms, narrowing her gaze. “That sounds like some Mafia thing.”

Deacon tilted his head and gave her a slow shrug, his smile turning mischievous. “Maybe. Just don’t eat the cannoli.”

The absurdity of the statement had her bursting into laughter. “Fine,” she conceded, shaking her head. “I’ll see somebody. But it might not be your guy.” She added a mock New York accent to her reply, and his deep chuckle filled the space between them.

He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “That’s all I needed to hear. Let’s get back to the hotel.”

“Are we traveling to Thailand to meet with Flanagan?” she asked as they stepped out of the room.

“No,” Deacon replied. “My boss said the director will be coming here, and he’ll arrive tomorrow.”

They walked toward the nurses’ station, where Deacon exchanged a few words with the nurse behind the counter. She handed him a clipboard, and Deacon pointed to a spot where Echo needed to sign. She scrawled her name on the document, not understanding a single word on the page.

“Talk about trust,” she quipped, glancing up at him. “I could’ve just sold my firstborn.”

Deacon chuckled, his voice warm. “I wouldn’t let that happen. You’re just signing your release and acknowledging the conditions of discharge.”

“Oh, well, if that’s all.” She grinned, laughing as they headed out of the hospital.

Deacon flagged down a taxi, and they climbed into the backseat of the compact vehicle. The space was cramped, but Echo hardly noticed. She was too busy marveling at the city around her. The streets were a sensory overload of noise, people, and vibrant chaos. After over two weeks in the jungle, the sheer volume of humanity pressing into the streets of Pleiku, South Vietnam, was almost overwhelming. Motorbikes weaved through traffic recklessly while street vendors called out in a language she didn’t understand. The tang of spices and smoke from food carts mingled with the acrid scent of exhaust.

She leaned back into the seat, letting it all wash over her. “This is … a lot,” she said, glancing sideways at Deacon.

He smirked. “A bit different from the jungle, huh?”

“A bit,” she echoed dryly, her lips twitching into a smile as she watched a family of four precariously balanced on a single motorbike zip past their taxi.

Deacon took her hand, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. The simple gesture grounded her amid the swirl of the bustling city. She squeezed his hand in return, her lips curving into a quiet smile. Somehow, among the chaos, she found peace sitting beside him.

“Ah, there’s something I need to tell you.” Deacon shifted uncomfortably beside her.

She tensed immediately. “What?”

“Ronan told me that our parents are here in Pleiku.” He glanced at her and licked his lips. “They want to have dinner with us. You don’t have to go if you don’t want.” He hurried to assure her.

“I’d like to meet your parents. But I’m not going to be very presentable in this.” She waved to her puke-pink scrubs.

Deacon seemed to relax at her answer. Had he been worried she wouldn’t want to meet them? He dropped his arm over her shoulders, and the driver glanced back in the rearview mirror and smiled at her. Obviously, public displays of affection were a rare thing in this country. She smiled back as Deacon said, “My mom has taken care of that. I don’t know how she got your size, but Ronan said clothes were being delivered to the hotel.”