“That bad?” North said.

“It’s kind of a World War I shell-shocked look. You need a Florence Nightingale.”

North pulled a face. “Christ, Tuck is going to be furious.” He looked like he might say more, but then he pulled his phone from his pocket. “That’s him. He’s down in the pick-up zone. Come on, we’ll give you a ride.”

They walked to the elevator in silence. They rode the elevator in silence. Shaw kept catching himself moving: his hand drifting toward North’s, his head tilting to rest on his shoulder, his body angled to the hard lines of the other man. He stopped himself again and again. His mind kept up that stuttering loop: the way North’s head lolled, the blood, the terrible stillness. Then the elevator dinged, and they walked in silence to the pick-up zone. Tuck’s Beamer was just passing them, and the steady flow of traffic meant that Tuck had to continue forward, looping around for another pass before he could pick up North.

Shaw managed to say, “You were right. I should have organized my desk. I should have put the silly string somewhere else.”

North didn’t answer.

That wasn’t the right thing. That wasn’t the thing Shaw wanted to say. The thing he needed to say. It was now, Shaw thought. Now. Now or never.

But before he could say anything more, North said, “You’re my best friend in the whole world.” His head was down, his hands stuffed in the Carhartt jacket, and he was kicking the toe of one Red Wing against the curb. “And I know I fucked up royally. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—I wanted you to know how sorry I am. And that I want you to be happy. And I’m so fucking proud of you because you are the most fucking amazing person I’ve ever met.”

Shaw tried to say something. All the stupid, smart-ass things they normally said to each other. Or something better. Something truer. He even tried to say the full truth, what he hadn’t been able to say in eight years. And none of it would come out.

Then the Beamer swept around, its halogen lights splitting Shaw’s head like a migraine, and he knew the moment had passed.

“Come on,” North said. “We’ll take you home.”

“No,” Shaw said. “No thanks.” He rose up on tiptoe and dragged North into a hug, and before he knew what he was doing, he kissed him on the cheek. As Shaw dropped back onto his heels, he said, “Back to work tomorrow.”

North’s hand drifted up like he wanted to touch that spot on his cheek. Then it froze, and he lowered it. And then it drifted back up again. Then it froze.

“Partners?” Shaw said.

North nodded. His lips quirked like he had something to say. Or like something else, maybe.

The Beamer’s horn blared.

North’s hand dropped to his side. Slowly. And then he took a few steps toward the Beamer, and for a moment, Shaw thought he might turn back, say something, do something, but then his stride firmed and he jogged the last few steps. As North pulled open the door, Tucker’s voice drifted out. “Not trying to be an asshole, babe, but there are people waiting. Jesus, what did you do to your—” And then the door swung shut.