He escorted Spencer down to breakfast with a minimum of talking, and that was his intent for the day—only communicate when absolutely needed and no getting distracted. They took out the Mark V boat again, but this time their Team Bravo plan involved using two small fishing boats to reach the back side of the island while Team Alpha swam to approach from the front, and that group would be using explosives to take out two small structures that had been hastily erected on the training island. At the same time, Team Bravo, minus Bacon and Spencer, would get in position to provide reinforcements and cover as necessary.
Both the fishing boat and the explosives practice were big clues that they weren’t headed to an uninhabited island on the real mission, and his talk last night with the LT had confirmed that. They’d have the added challenge of avoiding civilian detection, something they trained for, but was still a heightened risk for all of them. On the actual mission, he and Spencer would be trying to get high enough to have a view of what went down, but close enough to rendezvous quickly for extraction. On this practice run, the XO left his comm channel open, so Spencer was riveted listening in, and he didn’t seem to care that Bacon was neither talkative nor particularly friendly. No more sharing secret stories or flashing skin. Keep your focus, Petty Officer.
It was only on their way back down the bluff that Spencer finally brought up the sleeping lion lying between them. “So I was thinking all night. I’m going to do it.”
Do it? As in kiss Bacon? His heart started hammering. Fuck. “Here?”
Spencer frowned. “Do I need a specific location to drop the questions about Strauss? I’m not saying I won’t revisit the issue but—whoa.”
In his relief, Bacon had missed his next step and slid down the rocks. “Oh crap,” he called, scrambling, trying to stop his fall.
“Shit. Give me your hand.” Above him, Spencer crouched, ready to haul him up.
“Not sure that’s a good idea. Don’t want to pull you down too,” he said in clipped tones as he clung to a scrubby outcropping. His injured finger twanged like an angry banjo, a loud whine threatening to escape his throat from the pain. But if he let himself continue to slide, he might bring down half the hillside and end up down in the narrow gully with no easy way out.
“Give. Me. Your. Hand.” Spencer’s voice left no room for argument. Fuck. This was gonna hurt, and more than just his pride. He gave Spencer his injured hand, swinging himself with his good arm, getting momentum to scramble up while Spencer pulled.
“Thanks,” Bacon said once he was back on level land. “Thought for sure I’d yank you down too.”
Breathing hard, his eyes met Spencer’s and for a heartbeat he was tempted to embrace the man out of sheer relief. But before he could get hold of himself, Spencer shook his head, dropped Bacon’s hand, and stepped back. Message received. No matter how much adrenaline or weird chemistry, Spencer wasn’t going to give in that easily. Which was good. One of them needed to be adult. Bacon tried to curb the disappointment that coursed through him. Fuck, I’m a mess.
“I’m stronger than I look, and maybe you need to work on trusting me.” Spencer finally spoke, voice still firm and commanding, and damn if that tone didn’t do something for Bacon. However, there was a message in Spencer’s eyes that went beyond Bacon’s little tumble but they didn’t have any time for lengthy conversation before they needed to be back at the beach.
Can I do it? The question rattled around in his head the whole way back. Could he trust Spencer to not say anything about his suspicions about Strauss? And even more than that, could he trust Spencer out in the field, rely on him the way he did his teammates, see him as more than a burden?
Back at the forward base, he continued to wrestle with himself on the walk to the chow hall with Spencer.
“Thanks,” he said at last, in a low voice. “You saved my ass out there.”
“Well, I was hardly going to leave you dangling.” Spencer’s tone was serious, and he knew Spencer meant more than just the bluff.
“You could.”
“But I won’t.” Spencer pulled up short next to a building and looked Bacon straight in the eyes. “I’m a good guy. I promise.”
And I’m the bad guy who wants to bone you so bad I can’t think straight. And fuck, the only thing stopping him from kissing Spencer was the fact that they were out in the open. He couldn’t guarantee what he’d do next time he was alone with Spencer, and that thought chilled him past the heavy island humidity, made his sweat run cold and clammy. Maybe it wasn’t Strauss and Lowe to whom Spencer posed the biggest risk.