Active Duty - Hunter And Bailey -gay- - Checked -
Bailey didn’t move. He just watched. Hunter felt the weight of that gaze—not a supervisor checking on a subordinate, but something older. Something that had survived two deployments, a dozen near-misses, and one night in a FOB barracks when the mortar alarm had turned into something else entirely.
Bailey didn’t blink. “Hunter.”
“Bailey,” Hunter said.
“Then let’s finish the check,” Bailey said softly. He pointed to Hunter’s grease-stained clipboard. “What’s left?”
“You haven’t slept,” Bailey said. It wasn’t a question. Active Duty - Hunter And Bailey -Gay- - Checked
“Talk to me, Bailey,” Hunter called out, his voice muffled by the landing strut.
Fort Hood, Texas. 0300 hours.
“Fuel cell three is showing a pressure anomaly,” Bailey said, his voice low, a professional monotone that didn’t reach his eyes. “I rechecked it twice. It’s a sensor ghost.”