Finally, after the brutal, adrenaline-fueled marathon in the trauma bay, Madeline's shift was over. Her body was a lead weight. She was walking on instinct back toward the surgeon's quarters when her legs simply gave out. She collapsed onto the nearest available surface: a cold, steel-slatted bench tucked beside the main barracks building. The icy metal pressed against her surgical scrubs, and the cool, damp night breeze felt shockingly comforting against her overheated skin. It was supposed to be a thirty-second rest, but before she could regain her vertical hold, deep, immediate sleep claimed her, leaving her slumped against the harsh metal structure in the dead of the military night.
It was minutes later when Captain James, leaving the command center after final intelligence checks, strode purposefully down the quiet access path. He was a creature of habit, and his route was always precise. He stopped dead in track.
He recognized her instantly, even in the dim security light: the brilliant, fierce-eyed surgeon reduced to a peaceful, vulnerable heap. His internal compass spun. Should he leave her, letting the cold air serve as a harsh wake-up call? Or should he intervene?
The gentleman—the charming façade he deployed for social strategy—won the battle against the cold strategist. He approached, his stride softening to a measured pace. Without hesitation, he scooped her up.
Madeline was dead weight, but surprisingly light. As he lifted her in the classic bridal carry, she instinctively shifted closer, burying her face into the perfectly starched fabric covering his chest and wrapping her arm loosely around his neck in a gesture of pure, innocent seeking.
Madeline mumble something in sleep: "Don't leave me. Please" (She said in a soft tone)
That word made even the toughest heart melt.
James replied to her mumble: "I won't. I never will." (He said gently but it was filled with a silent promise and protection)
A sudden, unfamiliar warmth surged through James's chest, tightening his own grip. His heartbeat quickened—not with alarm, but with a baffling, disarming tenderness. He couldn't help the soft, faint smile that touched his lips.
The walk to his private barrack was long, silent, and felt entirely outside of time. The only sounds were their soft, synchronized breathing and the crisp, rhythmic click-click of his polished boots against the pavement. For a few perfect, suspended minutes, the strategies, the casualties, and the escalating border crisis melted away like ice. He held her tighter, a bizarre, foreign instinct suggesting his own lifeline depended on her proximity.
The spell shattered abruptly.
A newly assigned recruit, grinning broadly from his late-night security patrol, rounded the corner.
New Recruit: "Evening, Captain! Didn't realize you had a girlfriend stopping by! Good on you, sir!"( He teased, his voice still too loud and casual)
The warmth in James's chest instantly congealed to ice. His expression became a mask of stone-cold fury.
James: "She is not my 'girlfriend'. She is a colleague. Now, you will zip that mouth and erase what you saw. Consider this patrol path entirely invisible. Understood?" (His voice was low, cutting, and edged with a palpable, quiet threat that promised career devastation)
The recruit stammered, his grin vanishing: "Y-yes, sir! Crystal clear, sir! Moving on!" He practically ran down the path.
James resumed his walk, the sense of peace slightly marred but the protective tension still high. He finally reached his simple barrack—a space defined by a single bed and a desk piled high with intelligence reports.
He gently set Madeline down on his bed. She didn't stir. He pulled a thick, wool military blanket up to her chin, tucking her in. He then surveyed his empty room, the cold floor the only option left.
Instead of sleeping, James sat leaning against his desk, the hard wood a familiar discomfort. His cold, calculating eyes were drawn to the soft, peaceful curve of Madeline's face. He watched her breathe, the image of calm a stark contrast to the relentless chaos of his world. After an agonizing, restless hour, watching the woman who was both his professional interest and his sudden, personal distraction, his conscious thought finally gave way, and he drifted into a light, quiet, and wholly unusual sleep.