“You don’t look fine.” Morrison’s eyes narrowed, and he had the whole concerned-medic voice happening.
“I’m just hot. Like everyone else.” Zack took off his hat and swiped at his sweaty head for emphasis before forcing down another sip of water.
“You know, if you’re worried about something—” Morrison stepped closer, voice low.
“I’m not.” He still wasn’t sure exactly what Morrison thought he knew, but Zack couldn’t afford confidences right then.
“I’m just saying, stress can make you ill. And if there’s something bugging you—”
“Medic! Rodriguez cut his palm!” A cry came from the opposite side of the small encampment and Morrison dashed away.
The senior chief had helped Rodriguez sit on a convenient stump. Morrison seemed to get the dripping blood under control quickly, but Zack still looked away, stomach churning.
“Afraid of blood, Nelson?” Fuck. Cobb was right next him, perma-scowl on his face. And just Zack’s luck, everyone else was either watching the Rodriguez drama or out on patrol.
“Nope.” Zack tried to step around Cobb, head back to the camp, but Cobb moved to block his path.
“You seem awfully buddy-buddy with the PC police.” Cobb’s eyes were narrow slits.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zack’s fists clenched. Not for the first time, he wanted to smash in Cobb’s face, see who’d be laughing then, but he knew Cobb would twist it so the fight was Zack’s fault and Zack would be the one with a disciplinary action on his record. And it wasn’t like Zack was going to tell the truth about what they’d been fighting over. He’d be screwed, and Cobb knew it. Fuck. It was Danny all over again and him not able to fight back.
“Senior Chief took me aside to have a little chat about my homophobic slurs. Bet that’s your doing, him riding my ass now. God, get one queer on the team, and now a guy can’t even talk.”
“Not my problem that you’ve got such a limited vocabulary.” Zack kept his voice even. “And I’ve told you—”
“Save it.” Cobb gave him a grin that chilled Zack to his bones. “Only a matter of time before the whole damn team knows you like sucking cock. Can’t wait to see who has your six then.”
Zack’s pulse slowed, blood encased in ice. “What fiction are you planning on spreading?”
“You know, I’ve been thinking I’m not doing anyone any favors, keeping quiet about how you want Harper’s ass. Bet the PC police would shut the fuck up if they knew you’ve got a boner for your buddy.”
“Just shut the fuck up. I’ve got a...” A boyfriend now. Fuck. He couldn’t say that, no matter how badly it wanted to come out.
“Yeah?” Cobb cocked his head to one side, like he simply couldn’t wait to find out what lie Zack had up his muddy, sweaty sleeve.
“You’re full of shit,” Zack finished lamely but his fist balled up again. Fuck the disciplinary process. It was past time he laid into—
“Hey, Nelson! Lieutenant wants us to head out now.” Harper jogged up behind them.
Behind. Oh fuck. Had he heard?
At least he wasn’t running reconnaissance with Cobb—small mercies and all that—but he couldn’t tell from Harper’s face what he’d heard, especially not with the grease paint and hat obscuring his features. Harper didn’t meet his eyes as Zack gathered his gear, but that wasn’t exactly new—he’d been off ever since he met Pike and even more withdrawn after the argument on the plane.
Zack followed Harper over to the lieutenant, who gave them their orders about the objective of their reconnaissance mission and what intel he was looking for. Worries over Cobb receded a bit as Zack’s muscles tensed, ready to get out there. This was why he was here, this was what he was good at, and this was way more important than some stupid argument. Sure his team situation wasn’t perfect, but they were a team, and the team and the mission came first.
He and Harper headed into the jungle, sticking to the edge of a swampy section of terrain. Zack tried to focus on what they were doing, but the pain in his gut was getting worse. Stop it. It doesn’t matter what Harper knows. Morrison is right—you’re going to give yourself a stress ulcer or something if you don’t knock it off.
Hell. He got lost enough in his thoughts that he stumbled into Harper.
“Watch it!” Harper whirled on him, real anger in his eyes that made Zack’s breath catch.
“What’s your problem?”
“Think you know.” Harper set off at a faster clip.
Fuck. He had heard something. Bile rose in Zack’s throat, and shame caused the crushing pain in his abs to worsen, but he pressed on, trying to ignore it. Morrison was right—he should have eaten more. His breath came out in short puffs, and his throat burned. Or maybe he was dehydrated.
“Hold up,” he said to Harper. “I need a quick drink.”