“Heard you pissed off General Miles in your debriefing,” he said.

“Heard you didn’t piss off anyone in yours.”

“And they’re still sending me back home.”

“Your father arrange that?”

“I’d bet on it. I can see it now, the fucker. I have no doubt he’s already manipulating my run for senate.”

“I’m going back, too,” she said, looking for a trace of enthusiasm in his eyes. There was none.

He paced the room with an unsteady gait.

“It might help, you know,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“To talk about it.”

“Shit happens. You never know why.”

“I’m not that sure.”

“Have you told your boss at The Post what happened?”

“No.”

“I’ll tell you why. Because you know he’d think you’re crazy. Fuck. Maybe we are. One thing I learned here. You want to survive? You want to stay sane? You move forward. You move fast. You never look back. And never talk about the weird shit.”

“So why are you here?”

He slumped down onto the floor. She put a hand on his shoulder. He rested his head there. The heat from his cheek seeped into her fingers. She wanted him to tell her what he saw in the warehouse. But even alcohol couldn’t seem to break him. That didn’t stop her.

“What did you see in there?” she asked.

“You’re relentless.”

“No more than you when you want something.”

“And what is it you want, and why is it so fucking important?”

He struggled to stand. The booze played with his equilibrium.

He stared out the dusty, half-opened blinds. The afternoon sun scratched its way across his face. She could see he was debating something.

“You really want to know?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He turned to her, as sober as a baby.

“A young girl.”

“What?”

“There was a young girl. She got in my line of fire. Came out of nowhere. Her head exploded not five feet from me. Happy?”

He downed the vodka and slammed the glass on the counter, almost breaking it.

She saw he was about to vomit.

“Use the bathroom,” she said, and helped him there.

He dashed in, kicked the door shut, and retched.

The staccato of artillery burst like firecrackers in the distance.

She listened to hear if it continued.

It got quiet.

“Hey. You alright in there?”

“I’ll take that shower now.”

She grabbed the thin bar of soap off the kitchen counter, zipped open her carry-on, grabbed a travel-size bottle of shampoo and knocked on the bathroom door.

“Come on in.”

She opened the door.

He was naked, his taut body flecked with scars.

She handed him the shampoo and soap.

“I’ll make coffee.”

“Thanks. I’ll make sure we’re on the same flight, if that’s okay with you.”

“I’d like that.”