Active: Duty - Hunter And Bailey -gay- - Checked

One line remained, handwritten in the margin in Bailey’s neat, cramped script.

Fort Hood, Texas. 0300 hours.

He picked up his wrench. There was a mission to fly. But for the first time in six months, the pre-deployment checklist felt finished. Active Duty - Hunter And Bailey -Gay- - Checked

A second pair of boots appeared beside his head. Worn, dusty, the laces tied with a specific double-knot that Hunter could have recognized in the dark. Bailey crouched down, his face appearing upside-down in Hunter’s peripheral vision. He held a tablet with the digital manifest.

“It’s checked,” Hunter said. “Now get off my flight line before someone sees you caring.” One line remained, handwritten in the margin in

Hunter lay back down, sliding under the landing gear. His heart was pounding against his ribs like a rotor out of balance. He pressed his thumb to the fresh checkmark, smearing the ink just a little.

“Then let’s finish the check,” Bailey said softly. He pointed to Hunter’s grease-stained clipboard. “What’s left?” He picked up his wrench

Checked In

Bailey didn’t move. He just watched. Hunter felt the weight of that gaze—not a supervisor checking on a subordinate, but something older. Something that had survived two deployments, a dozen near-misses, and one night in a FOB barracks when the mortar alarm had turned into something else entirely.

Active duty. Hunter and Bailey. Gay. Checked.