26. alessia

26

ALESSIA

It took everything in me. It took every single cell in my body not to react to such gruesome videos, photos, and texts detailing why these high-value targets were being pursued.

There was a video of Damon Hawk's video being burnt alive through Akana's and Lopez's bodycams.

There were photos of Violet's injuries.

And then…there were videos of beheadings.

I could feel Daegans eyes behind me burning holes through my back as he watched on without a word as I was filled in.

"I'm going to excuse myself, sir," I tell my superior, holding back tears, bile, and a boil of emotions in my throat.

I rush out of the conference room, walking fast, and Daegan swings the door open for me before I can get a chance to touch it. I nod at him, and our eyes lock once more. His face deadpans completely like stone. But his eyes soften like a cloud.

He knows me, even when I don't want him to. He knows I'm not okay and rushes after me as I run towards the women's restrooms.

I push the door open fast, and it hits the wall with a thud.

"Don't," I glare at him over my shoulder, ordering him away from me, and he halts his movements. I don't bother to see if my cold shoulder bothered him.

I run to the nearest stall, swinging the dull grey-colored metal door open, and let the vomit spill out of me. After seeing those images and stories, something unwelcoming settles into my spirit. Fear I didn't know I had comes full circle in my head.

I'm on my knees, cleaning my mouth with toilet paper. It's a quick release, and my sickness is over in a minute. The nausea still lingers even though I flushed it all away until my stomach had nothing more to give. The loud noise of the small toilet flushing swallows my trembling sobs. I slump down on the heel of my toes and cry into my forearms.

It feels like hours go by as I cry thinking about the children, victims of war, and the gruesome details of horror and evil combined into one.

"Valentine."

I open my swollen, aching red eyes, and through blurry vision, I see him standing at the restroom stall door with a softened gaze.

"Stop it, Hannibal, stop saying my name like that!"

"I'm sorry."

My harsh words come out like venom, and I take a deep breath in as guilt settles.

"I didn't mean it like that…I," I stop myself because I can feel the layers of my shell I hide behind become transparent. I'm vulnerable, and this time…I want to be.

"I like it when you call me Valentine. The way you say it, though… it feels good." I confess as I lift off my arms and watch his response.

He swallows, and his jaw twitches. His Adam's apple bobs as he soaks in my words.

"How do you do this job, Daegan? How do you all keep doing this job without breaking? I feel helpless." I confess as I remember all the images and videos.

He doesn't answer. I continue to cry into my hands as the darkness of war cracks my spirit. The sounds of my sobs are the only thing in between us.

"I want to show you something, Alessia." He calls me by my first name, and for the first time since that rainy night at his house, his guard is down, the walls are cracked, and his cloak of a shield evaporates.

"Come with me." He holds his hand out, and I stare at it longer than I should, debating with myself. This is unprofessional of both of us, but I think we crossed that line months ago.

I grab his hand, and he immediately reacts. He pulls me to my feet, helps me stand, and brings me in for a hug straight into his chest. And like a moth to a flame, I melt into his arms and sob harder. He plants his chin on the top of my head as he holds me deep into his uniform. I get lost in his scent as my tears fall into his clothing fabric.

He holds me, but the way he's holding me is like he's letting me know that I'm safe with him. He doesn't have to say it; the way his body moves around me warms me, and the way he wraps me tightly with his arms, my sobs dissipate into shorter and softer whimpers.

"Let me show you a place," he murmurs into my hair. I sniffle into his chest, not wanting to let go, but give in with a nod seconds later.

He pushes open the door to the rooftop of the building. It's a tall building, five stories high. We walked in silence as I followed him through the staircase.

I trust him. Wherever he's taking me, we'll be safe.

As soon as he opens the door, the sounds of the airfield roar and the night takes over us like shadows.

It's late at night, and the stars twinkle loudly in the dark sky. The moon is a crescent, and the winds are cool against my naked arms and face.

Daegan steps forward, but my heels stay planted with hesitation. He stops walking when he realizes I haven't moved. He turns, and his eyes crease like he's smiling. He comes back and grabs my hand, gently pulling me through the door.

We walk for a few seconds until we reach the center of the rooftop.

He lets go of my hand.

"Wait here for a sec," He bends down slightly and mutters into my ear. Tingles run down my spine as his deep voice takes its usual effect on me. He disappears, going in the corner's direction.

"What are we doing here? Where are you going?" I whisper harshly. Crossing my arms against my chest for warmth, I look around, making sure no one sees us.

"I'm pretty sure we can't be here!" I scold him, murmuring under my jarring breath.

A minute later, he emerges with a rucksack under the bright moonlight. And no mask.

His dark waves of hair sway in the wind, and the temptation to run my hands through it gets stronger.

"Wh—what? You just have a rucksack up here at all times?"

"Valentine, you ask way too many questions." He shakes his hand, smirking handsomely.

Damn him.

Damn him and the way he smirks.

He unzips the rucksack just as he drops it by my feet and pulls out a folded blanket. It's a soft, fluffy black blanket decorated with Jack Skellington and a giant pillow.

"I love this movie…" I tell him as he unfolds the blanket and places it on the floor. It mimics a bed or a picnic on the beach…but we're in a warzone on a military base.

"Stop distracting me and tell me what we're doing up here."

He doesn't face me as he makes up a bed.

"Sometimes, when the noise, or when the stress, and darkness gets too much, I escape through nature…this is the closest thing I can get to that right now."

He lays down on the floor, throwing his hands behind him like a pillow.

"Sometimes, I watch the sky and the stars and appreciate the Earth. With our daily routine of busy work days, I think we forget that the Earth itself has a lot to offer our minds, and sometimes, we just need to sit and listen to what it has to say. Get lost in its beauty. Even if it's just for a few moments, it helps me relax when shit gets too fucking much."

I place my hands on my hips and do a double take at the door. I'm scared someone will come bursting through and start asking questions.

As my heart pounds, Daegan pats down next to him.

"Come on, Valentine, I don't bite."

After a few deep breaths, I give in to his request.

Daegan doesn't take his eyes off the sky as I settle beside him.

We lay there in comfortable silence as we watch military aircraft land and take off for exercises or missions.

"Look, it's a shooting star. Make a wish, little Valentine." He points to an airplane taking off.

There it is again. Valentine.

"That's a C17 Hannibal," I scoff, and my lips curve slightly. I do my best not to laugh and shake my head at his silly remark.

"Close enough…now make a wish."

"No," my voice comes out high-pitched, and a giggle follows.

Suddenly, I feel his big hand coil around mine, and he squeezes.

"Pretend," he turns his head towards me. I can see his movements from the corner of my eye, daring me.

I don't want to face him…I can't. An overwhelming urge to squeeze his hand back consumes me, and I have to fight it. But my body betrays me, and before I know it, I'm squeezing his hand back.

I twist my face, and regret immediately smacks me in the face when I see the way he sparkles…enchanting me. He's so close I can feel his breath on my lips.

"Pretend," he repeats, and his tone changes into something sultry and familiar, striking me hard. "Pretend it's a shooting star."

The memories of his house, me waking him with a knife to my throat, and the craziest way I've ever finished play in my head again.

The night I think about before I fall asleep every night replays, and it also flashes in his grey eyes. I know it. He's let his wall down for the night, and I can read him so easily. I know he's thinking the same thing. The night he made me feel so alive when my heart was so numb from betrayal.

The night we played pretend.

It feels like it's become some type of secret code.

Our secret code.

It can't be.

I hold my breath, and so does he. His thumb brushes against my wrist, back and forth. My mouth is just a mere torturous inch from his. A forbidden moment full of heat. I feel like I'm going to melt into nothing with the way his intimidating stare scorches me.

Blood rushes to my ears, something euphoric slithers into my core, and the sound of the C17 grows faint.

Daegan blinks slowly, his chest moving up and down rapidly, and his eyebrows narrow angrily with intensity.

Just when I think he's going to make a move, I snap out of it.

I close my eyes and make a wish.

With my eyes still closed, I try to pry the best sniper in the military.

"Is there another reason why you look up at the sky when you're stressed?"

He sighs, and I open my eyes to find him looking at the stars again. He lets go of my wrist, and my heart sinks. I internally tell my heart to shut up.

He tucks his hands behind his head and licks his lips.

"My mother," he replies.

The beautiful woman in the picture, holding him as a child.

"Tell me about her."

"She's dead, Alessia." He snaps.

Oh, shit.

Oh, no.

How stupid of me.

"I'm sorry."

There's an awkward silence, and I'm full of regret. I shouldn't have asked something so personal. I shake my head, trying to fight the urge to get up and run away, but he speaks before I can make an impulsive decision to escape.

"She killed herself because she had postpartum depression."

I swallow the lump in my throat before it can grow bigger, making me more stiff.

"I was five years old, but when she gave birth to my little sister, she developed postpartum depression, and it never got better. Until one day she took her life…on Valentine's Day."

Silence.

"I'm so sorry."

"You know I used to fucking hate Valentine's Day. I used to hate when February would come around because I resented my mother for taking her own life and leaving me so selfishly for so long."

Silence.

"Then I got a taste of that. Taste of that alienating pain. My days of being tortured made me want to fucking kill myself. I just wanted to die because I was in so much fucking pain. I'd rather end the pain than for it to be dragged out. I wanted to put an end to my misery. But in a weird, sick way, I learned a lesson because that's when it hit me. My mother felt the same as I did. Of course, it was different circumstances, but still…her pain was dismissed because people couldn't physically see what was scarring her up on the inside, but her pain was as real as any other pain."

He turns to me.

"And she killed herself."

His eyes have a sharp edge, and I'm tempted to wrap my arms around him. I ache to hold him like he held me in the bathroom. I want to return the sweet gesture so severely, but I don't wish to overstep. And alas, I stay frozen, being the ears he needs, and I listen to him unravel a part of himself I'm not sure anyone else knows.

"I hate that she felt that alone. To feel alone in a world full of people…that's the worst kind of alienation. She was in so much pain after she had my sister. Maybe there were more factors involved, but my father doesn't talk about it…and I don't ask. I wish she knew there was hope. There's always hope."

And for some reason, I feel like he's reminding himself of that message.

There's always hope. There's always love. There's always someone.

A Black Hawk helicopter enters the airfield and descends slowly onto the pad. The sound of the aircraft's wings whipping the air and the engine roaring accompanies us.

"Love isn't for me but… if I were to become a father, I would worship the ground the mother of my child walks on.become a father, I will worship the ground the mother of my child walks on. I will make sure she is okay every day and support her. I will make sure if she does get postpartum depression, I inform her that there are resources…and I will constantly remind her that she is loved and not alone in a language she needs me to speak. I refuse to let history repeat itself. If I ever get the privilege of finding someone who just doesn't see my scars."

He doesn't look at me. He keeps his eyes on the sky, and I ponder. An image of Daegan with a baby in his large hands sends me swooning. I do want to be a mom one day. But with the right person.

We stay silent, and curiosity gnaws at me. I have the sudden urge to take advantage of this open window he's creaked open into his world.

"Used to hate?" I ask, wanting clarification.

He lifts his scarred brow. "What?"

"You said you used to hate Valentine's Day. What made you change your mind about that holiday?" I quirk a brow.

I want to know more about my ‘bodyguard.' He's holding back so much, and I crave to know more.

He rips his eyes from the sky and turns to me. He studies me, his eyes moving vehemently from my eyes to my lips back and forth until, finally, a dire smirk appears.

"What if I say you had to do something to do with it?"

I scoff. A hot blush simmers into my cheeks, threatening to expose how he makes me feel.

"I would say you're giving me too much credit, Mr. Hannibal."

He smiles, the corner of his eye creases, and the moonlight reflects among his scars. But the way he smiles, it's like he's smiling for the first time. There is something so genuine about how he does it, unlike how he usually portrays himself to others. Then he turns to his side, and I become frozen with angst.

His face hovers over mine, and it's as if he's trying to hold onto this moment for life.

I know I am.

So, I wait.

I wait for him to make the move I've been dying for him to make since we landed in Iraq. I want to taste him again. I want to feel his tongue on mine, his hands everywhere on my skin. I want to feel him.

Just when I think he's going to lean in, my phone chimes.

I don't know how I found the strength to do it, but I grab my phone, breaking our intensity, and look at the cockblock culprit.

Kane.

Kane: Where are you?

"Oh? It's Kane. Is he taking over tonight?" I ask Daegan. It's Thursday. Usually, Kane takes over on the weekends, and Daegan is assigned on weekdays.

So, why is he texting me?

I turn around to find Daegan standing over me, packing up his rucksack like he's ready to leave. Our quiet, intimate moment of stargazing is slipping away, and I'm not ready.

This cannot happen. I cannot form a crush. I have to remind myself that our careers come first.

But why does it feel like maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to break the rules?

"Yes, Valentine. We're trying something different. He's taking over tonight on guard."

I want to protest. I want to ask him why. Is this personal? Or is it a purely professional decision? But the question never leaves my lips.

Even as we leave the rooftop and descend the stairs, there's a change in his tone, his movements, and the way the broken walls are now sealed all the way up.

Daegan is gone, and Operator Creature is back.