Bernie always had a specific time for showers. She could play with the big boys, but she didn't get naked with them. It was 0200 hours when Bernie decided she couldn't sleep. It was also the perfect time for a shower.
In Vectes Naval Base, someone was always awake, squads were routinely changing shifts, but the barracks had become almost a sacred place to the Gears. Unless they were under attack, the barracks remained quiet; it was out of respect for the Gears catching those precious fleeting hours of sleep. Bernie quietly grabbed a change of clothes and towel and headed toward the bathroom, reminding herself for the tenth time to talk to Hoffman about separating the group shower for the women.
She was relieved that it was empty like usual. The next roster shift wouldn't happen for another hour; she had plenty of time to relax. She stripped out of her fatigues and hung her clothes and towel on the long bar on the opposite wall of the shower heads. She grabbed her personal bar of carbolic soap and chose a shower head, sighing contentedly as she turned the water on.
Even after using it for a few weeks, running water was still a luxury to her. She traveled for six years across Sera; showering wasn't a normal occurrence during that time of her life. She relished the scalding water on her skin.
It wasn't long until she heard footsteps coming toward her. She took a breath to tell the sod to come back later―she knew she should've stationed Mac outside the door―but it caught in her throat when she turned to find Hoffman, towel wrapped around his waist, standing in the wide doorway. His eyes grew two sizes and he immediately turned on his heel.
"Excuse me, Sergeant," he said. His voice was beyond strangled. "I didn't know you were in here."
Bernie's stomach knotted. Of all the people to walk in on her, why did it have to be Vic? She felt more than exposed, she felt vulnerable. It was only a brief second but surely he saw the scars that littered her body. She shouldn't have been embarrassed about them, but not all of them were gained in battle. She didn't want anyone to see them―not even Hoffman.
He started to walk away. She should have let him leave, that would have been the smart thing to do, but something inside her made her call out to him. She didn't have to explain anything to him; he probably couldn't tell the difference, anyway. But she wouldn't be able to look him in the eye if he left now.
"What are you doing up this late, Vic?" she asked, trying to hide the trembling in her voice. I'm okay, I'm safe. This is Vic, my oldest and dearest friend. He's probably as embarrassed as I am.
He stopped and she watched the muscles in his shoulders flex. He was embarrassed, and it was kind of cute.
"Hard to sleep when I've got Gavriel calling at all hours asking about the Lambent," he grunted.
"Put Mathieson on it. He's a smart kid, knows about as much as any of us."
"I told Gavriel if he needed anything to talk to me personally. I meant that."
Oh Vic, still shouldering all the responsibility. You're just a big softie, huh?
There was a brief silence while Bernie rinsed the soap from her hair. He never moved, and if she hadn't been stealing glances at the wide plain of his shoulders, she would have bet he wasn't breathing either. It wasn't uncomfortable between them, just awkward. Their relationship hung on deliberately neutral conversations but now it could fall either way. Bernie wasn't sure she was ready to muddy those waters, but she wasn't fully against it.
"You can come in, Vic," she said, her tone guarded. What am I doing? This isn't pretend; I can't be one of the guys like this. Not around him. "I'm just finishing up."
"Take your time, Sergeant. I'll come back later."
"Never seen a naked woman before?" she challenged. You're going to get in trouble; someone could get hurt tonight.
Victor grunted and, rising to the bait, marched into the tiled hallway. She was surprised; normally it took a lot more than a few words to ruffle Victor Hoffman. He kept his eyes forward as he went to the farthest end with a shower head. Suddenly he looked conflicted, as if debating whether he would shower in the towel, but the moment passed and he hung the towel on the opposite wall.
Bernie tried to appear uninterested but she watched him in her peripheral vision. Still has a great arse for being sixty-one, she thought with a smile and then turned her back as the sound of the other shower head started up.
As she finished her shower, the space between her shoulder blades began to itch. He was watching her. Victor was somewhat of a prude, as demonstrated by his rare embarrassment, but it empowered Bernie. How did he feel about her after all these years?
Sod it all. Just take the chance. No harm in asking, right?
Without turning around she asked, "See something you like?"
"Snipers. Eyes in the back of your damn heads," he growled, despite sounding amused. "Just admiring your tattoos, Sergeant. I never knew they were so widespread."
They were part of her, and unless someone mentioned them, Bernie normally forgot they even existed. Still, she could remember the days they were painstakingly etched on her skin. The ink spiraled around each arm, met in a complicated design near her shoulder blades, and ran the length of her back to spiral down her legs to her ankles. It was a beautiful piece of work but bloody hurt in the past.
"It's Bernie to you, Colonel, and I remember I never had the chance to show you back in the day," she replied. It felt like a low blow to remind him of their break up; she wasn't even upset about it anymore. In fact, she barely remembered it.
"Your tribe doesn't do bakuaia, huh?"
"No, that's too barbaric for us. We're not really a tribe, just a people; tribes prefer the bakuaia to anything. Besides, the pain from all this is more than enough to reach spiritual enlightenment."
"Coming from you?" He snorted. "I think you should have tried it. Tai had the full set and he's the only truly spiritual man I've ever known."
"He was a good man," she said.
The weight of reality was thick again. All the Gears lost, all the civilians. Would nothing go right for them? Hoffman worked hard to protect everyone, to neutralize any threat before it could blow up in their faces, but even the best men could disappear in a moment.
Bernie sighed and shut off the water. Whatever she hoped to happen tonight was long gone. He was devoted to his work, she was devoted to hers; even if he still had feelings for her, they wouldn't be able to make it work and she wasn't going to stand around pining for him.
I suppose it's better than being in Anya's shoes. Poor girl will be waiting until the cows come home before Marcus admits to having feelings.
It was too much for Bernie to ask for something solid. She felt ridiculous for wanting a relationship in this time of uncertainty. She was already emotionally attached to most of the serving men and women; she didn't need a relationship on top of that. It would make her weak. She wouldn't be able to focus on her job, her own safety.
She wrapped her towel around herself and stepped out of the group shower when Hoffman grabbed her arm.
"Wait, Bernie, I . . . I have something to say."
Oh god, here it comes. She didn't look at him. "We don't have to do this now, Vic. There's plenty of time since I'm confined to base."
"No, it has to be said now. Before it's too late."
Her free hand clutched the towel to her chest as she waited for him to continue. Again she felt vulnerable. What was Hoffman seeing in that moment? A wrinkled and scarred hag with a vendetta? She chanced looking at him and watched as he gathered his courage. She could see this wasn't a conversation he wanted to have in these conditions, but it had to be pretty damn important to him.
His grip loosened on her arm until his hand slid into hers. They were always so big compared to her hands and still rough with callouses from battles waged and won. He stared at their joined hands as if he'd never had human contact before.
"I've made a lot of mistakes, lost a lot of people I've held dear." He pressed his lips together and gave her a look she had never seen on his face before: fear. "I know I was a self-righteous ass forty years ago but ranks mean jackshit to me now. This is the end of civilization. Who's going to charge me for fraternizing in the ranks?"
She frowned. "Is that all you care about?"
"No. Damn it, this is harder than I thought. I'm trying to say―"
"What are you trying to say, Vic? That I'm no longer a liability to your career so it's okay now?"
"No! Goddamnit it, woman, just listen. I'm trying to say that I made a mistake forty years ago; I shouldn't have let you go. Bernie, I'm terrified of something happening to you. I know, you can still give 'em hell on the field, but humor an old bastard. I don't want you out of my sight."
Bernie's old heart pounded in irregular rhythm that almost worried her. She wanted to laugh―Colonel Victor Hoffman, hard ass Chief of Defense Staff, just confessed to her stark naked―but she felt a stronger urge to cry. This can't happen. Not now. We've got too much on the line.
No, fuck that.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" she whispered.
"I don't know how you feel about me but―"
Bernie laid their joined hands on his cheek. "It feels kind of silly to say it after all these years, doesn't it?"
"Like I give a damn," he replied with a smile.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
She had to ask. Vic had never let on about how he felt about Margaret but Bernie had gotten the need-to-know from Anya. Bernie was more than over Neal; for all she knew, he was dead too. But knowing Vic, he probably still carried the weight of Margaret's death.
She watched him chew it over.
"Does it make me sound like a cold bastard if I say I'm done living in the past?" he asked. "I'll always feel guilty for what happened, but I have to have hope in the future right now. Not just for myself but for my Gears."
"You don't have to act tough, Vic. I got some details from Anya about Margaret. You have nothing to feel guilty about, you were just doing your job. If she couldn't accept that. . . ."
She let it hang unspoken. Maybe she wasn't the one. Bernie would never disrespect someone's memory but she felt Margaret could have spared a moment of understanding for her husband. He was in possession of sensitive information; he couldn't say anything if he wanted to.
"She was stubborn as a mule. I understood exactly why she hated me and I don't blame her for it. I made peace with it."
Bernie closed her eyes, weighing each word carefully. He was entirely sure. The look he gave her―one full of desperation, pleading, and love―made her stomach flip. She had never seen such a raw look on any man's face, especially not directed at her.
She opened her eyes to see he was still waiting for that final confirmation. Would she do it? Could she?
"I'm willing to give you another shot," she said with a grin. "Don't make me regret it, Colonel."
He returned the coy grin with his own and Bernie swore it took ten years off his face. The look in his eyes was enough to make her squirm; it was unlike anything she'd ever seen on a man's face directed at her. Neal had certainly never looked at her like that. She had seen it in movies and exchanged between couples, but never for her.
It surprised her how easy it was to rekindle an old flame. A look, a touch, and a few words, and she felt like she was twenty again stealing kisses in deserted hallways.
He started to lean towards her but Bernie set her finger against his lips.
"Not so fast, stallion," she said. Her curiosity got the better of her and for a moment her eyes drifted much lower than his eyes. "Finish your shower first, then we've got some catching up to do."
"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled around her finger.