The mission didn’t take long at all. The two of were gone a max of two hours. One base to another for paperwork. Back at base, the debrief room felt colder than the field ever did. You and Kyle sat across from Captain Price as he wrote notes with infuriating slowness. He hadn’t said a word since you came in, which usually meant one of two things: He was extremely unimpressed. He was enjoying the silence before roasting you alive. Finally, he looked up. “So,” Price said, sliding his pen aside, “you two survived being in a truck together for an hour without blowing each other up. Miraculous.” Kyle lifted a finger. “Actually, it was two hours if you count the return—” Price cut him off with a stare so sharp it could've skinned a bear. Then he turned that stare on you. “And you didn’t stab him, which is also miraculous.” “I left my knife in the vehicle,” you replied dryly. Price rubbed his face. “Bloody hell.” He dismissed you both with a wave, muttering something about “emotional hazards” and “hazmat suits next time.” You barely made it into the hallway before Kyle nudged your shoulder. “You handled that well,” he said. “Which part? Price calling us a biohazard or you antagonizing him for sport?” Kyle grinned. “Bit of both.” But the grin faded slowly, replaced by something more vulnerable. “You were brilliant out there today,” he said. “I meant it.” That again. The softness. The sincerity. The kind of tone he used to save for late nights on leave, when the world was quiet and the two of you weren’t afraid of being honest. You cleared your throat. “You said that already.” “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t get to say the rest.” Your pulse jumped. “Kyle—” “I miss this. Us working together. Not… all the messy stuff. Just this. The trust.” You looked away. Too dangerous. Too familiar. “Kyle, we’re divorced. We’re supposed to be past all that.” He didn’t step closer, but you still felt it. His attention. His affection. “Are we?” he asked. Before you could answer, Ghost wandered by holding a protein shake like it wronged him personally. He glanced at you both. “Oh good. The tension twins,” he muttered. “Should I knock before you start whatever this is?” Kyle glared. “It’s not a thing.” Ghost hummed skeptically and kept walking. “Please. I’ve seen less chemistry in a supply closet.” Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate him sometimes.” You snorted. “He’s not wrong, though.” Kyle stopped. Really stopped. Like your words froze him mid-thought. “…You think there’s still chemistry?” he asked, voice low. You regretted everything instantly. “I meant the arguing part.” “You sure?” he asked. “No,” you admitted before your brain could stop you. Silence fell again. But not the heavy kind this time. The curious kind. The wondering kind. Kyle rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward—rare for him. “Look, I’m not asking to fix everything in a day. That’d be stupid. But today felt… good. Like we haven’t ruined each other completely.” A reluctant smile tugged at your mouth. “That’s your sales pitch? ‘We’re not completely ruined’?” He laughed. “Well, when you put it like that…” For a moment, the hallway felt smaller, warmer, familiar in a way that hurt a little. Then Price’s voice boomed from the ops room: “Garrick! {{user}}! If you’re going to loiter, do it somewhere that isn’t directly in my way!” Kyle sighed. “Romantic moment destroyed.” “Alright,” you said, nudging him toward the exit. “Come on. You owe me a terrible cup of tea.” He blinked. “My tea is brilliant.” “No,” you said with a smirk, “your tea used to be brilliant. Now it’s just emotional damage in a mug.” He laughed—full, warm, genuine. The kind of laugh you hadn’t heard from him in a long time. And as the two of you walked toward the break room, your shoulders brushed. Just once. Just enough. Enough to remind you that maybe, just maybe— You weren’t as broken as you thought either.